


Saving Grace

by Amanthas



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Abuse, Alternate Universe, Blood and Gore, Fluff and Angst, Hurt/Comfort, I'll update IN NOTES if a specific tag needs to be added on, Mild Language, PTSD, Slow Build, angel!Sam, angel!dean, ish
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-10-01
Updated: 2013-11-14
Packaged: 2017-12-28 03:06:04
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 14
Words: 44,199
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/986924
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Amanthas/pseuds/Amanthas
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sam Wesson, Castiel Novak, and Dean Winchester live in separate towns, go to different schools, and have never met once in their lives.  But when they wake up to find themselves in the deserted ruins of a barn, wondering how the hell they had gotten there and how they could possibly escape, that animosity with each other is about to change. As they learn what happened during the last few seconds of their lives, they are forced to face the facts:<br/>They will be hunted.<br/>They can never go back.<br/>They're only hope of survival is to trust a monster.<br/>Where can they find the faith to trust each other, when they can't even trust themselves?<br/>How can they pull a drowning world from the sea if they all went under long ago?<br/>If they're supposed to save the world, who will save them?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The Truth Beneath the Rose

**Author's Note:**

> Alright, so I've got good news and bad news. Bad news is that I have suffered some technological difficulties, some plot difficulties, and some motivational difficulties thus PROBABLY resulting in me dropping my previous series(s). I really am sorry, and I will do my best to maybe shorten them and post whatever I can, but well...life happens. The good news is that for this story I have a moral support team and personal "story secretary" more than happy to kick me in the ass if I try to bail on this one. Other good news is that I'm part way done with it already, so we should be good to go.  
> These prologues will be posted a lot faster than the following chapters, so expect updates for the chapter maybe one a week. It won't be every day (most likely) like the prologues will be. Unless I decide to ignore Spanish and work on my fic instead, which is a definite possibility. Anyway sorry for the long comment, just wanted to clear up a few things and hopefully get this new story off to a good start. As always characters courtesy Supernatural, and please leave any comments or questions because those are always much more fun to read instead of typing a boring essay. :)

Chapter One: The Truth Beneath the Rose  
-Within Temptation

I'm hoping, I'm praying  
I won't get lost between two worlds  
For all I have seen the truth lies in between  
Give me the strength to face the wrong that I have done  
Now that I know the darkest side of me

 

It was a velvety black night- the kind where only the faintest light of the stars above could shed illumination on the ground below. The silver and pink light from galaxies unhindered by human light pollution and free of dark-grey clouds flittered through the air into a tall round chamber with honeycombed walls and no ceiling- except for that of the sky. Inside each cubby was a small, round object of pure light. They seemed suspended, as if in water, bobbing gently to a nonexistent current and letting loose a gentle tinkle like wind-chimes whenever they bumped the side of their small containers. All around the chamber, the ghosts of children laughing, of barbecues long gone, of smiles since passed, and the slow delight of pure happiness hovered. It was a Sanctuary, one of the many located in Heaven, where the souls of the dead lived inside themselves, eternally happy and blessed. 

A lone woman stood in the center of the Sanctuary, her curly coffee bean hair falling in glossy waves down her back. She was clothed in smoky blue garments that shimmered like silk, and wore battle-scarred silver armor. Protruding from her back where enormous wings with feathers that looked softer than swan down- partly translucent and seemingly able to contain no color and yet every color. Creamy cedar colored skin showed wherever the armor and cloth did not cover and a slightly dented iron helmet with a tail of blue horse-hair was tucked wearily under her arm.

She made no action, standing there amid the souls, with only the slightest flitter of a half smile on her bitter tinged lips. A flutter of wings echoed behind her, but she made no move to turn, only standing calmly with her back to the new arrival. She knew whom it was, she could feel his Grace greeting her own, welcoming their bonding together. She did however, address a question- though not specifically to him. Her child was intelligent, he would understand. 

"It is very peaceful here, would you not agree?"

The angel who stood next to her was of strong build with golden armor that shown too bright to look directly at. A golden cape flowed to his ankles while bright wings of the purest white shimmered on his back. He considered the woman carefully with his head tilted slightly to the side- seeming to adhere to her as a superior despite his own grand stature. 

"I suppose," he grunted noncommittally, clearly uncomfortable with the topic. The woman smiled once more, this time of more amusement than much else. That was Michael. Always uncomfortable with the topic of humanity. Despite his decision to trust his Father and protect humans, she knew he was secretly confused on why God insisted upon their deliverance. Most angels were, considering the sin that stained humans to be far inferior to their own Graceful selves. She understood their sentiment, but she did not accept it. The angels and humans were both equally good in their own ways, even if they had yet to acknowledge that fact themselves. She respected Michael for his loyalty, however, for even though he questioned the orders inwardly, he was never lenient on those who disobeyed them, and never once faltered in his own guidance over humans. He may never appreciate humanity, but his obedience would suffice. It was all she and the Father could ask, in truth.

"Are the Garrisons at full strength?" She asked to change the topic. While she was more than comfortable at staying silent and in personal peace inside the Sanctuaries, she knew she was among the few who enjoyed the presence of human souls. Michael, bless him, was the type of angel who enjoyed the peace before the storm of battle. He was never content if there was not someone to fight, someone to save, or something to accomplish that would bring him one step closer to achieving his Father's will. She understood him perfectly- having been the only other being present at his creation. He was, after all, her child.

"Beyond so," he replied easily, clearly more comfortable with this new line of conversation. "Though I cannot fathom why it is the Fallen would attack now, or even their motivation to bring the battle to us to begin with. They cannot hope to conquer Heaven, so why must they try? What do they hope to gain?"

She remained silent at his questions, knowing they were in part rhetorical, but also understanding Michael was sending her a type of plea. He was afraid as to why the demons would attack when it was blatantly clear that this was one battle they could not win. Why waste the troops, the energy, and the resources? Why?

She knew of course. She had seen this coming long before any of the other Prophetic Angels had, and she had hidden the vision from them. There were some things no one, not even an angel, could hope to avoid. Angels considered Fate to be a weak source applying only to humanity and their short existence; but she knew Fate allowed the attitude to exist partly of amusement and partly to make her frequent trips to Heaven more unnoticed. But Fate was ever more powerful than her children could being to imagine. If a Command of God was passed down to Fate, she became the third most powerful being in the universe, below only Death and God themselves. Her will could change the fate of an angel, even an Archangel. The Lady wished her children would learn their humility, and thus she knew why this particular destiny had been arranged. It would be unpleasant, most undoubtedly so, but necessary. She would willingly bear the worse types of punishment for her children, thus she could not refute this decision. 

"My Lady?"

She sighed softly, hearing the question hidden underneath. He had seen her deliberations in the silence, and he wanted to know what it was she knew. She could not tell him, however. Michael was an intelligent son, but he could not understand what it was he needed to be taught. No one could, not really. Not even herself, though she may understand better than most. 

"You know the outcome. You know why they are here." She knew he was trying his best to keep the accusatory tone from his voice, but his attempts were met with failure. 

"I do." There was no point in an attempt to deny it, Michael had seen the look on her countenance. It was useless now to try and deceive him, even if angels could lie. "I understand perfectly."

"But you will not tell me." It wasn't a question. The disappointment in his voice was audible. She sighed, almost frustrated with her son. This was why she was still here, and not with the Father, wherever he may be. Michael was not yet ready to lead Heaven. He wanted the perfect army, where all were obedient and loyal much like himself. He wanted to command the Host of Heaven as a Garrison, and not as a family. He wanted to "protect" humanity by destroying Lucifer and freeing them from sin while annihilating half the planet . He wanted to drag the Fallen back, fighting, and force them to return to their old positions as obedient as they should have been from the beginning. He wanted to force down that individual spark in angels so as to make a perfect army. While his wishes were not lying with malicious intent, his ideals were not the ideals he should be trying to uphold. He was her son, and the Lady loved him, but it was clear to her that Heaven needed her guidance in order to properly function. Her angels needed her. And it was why this destiny grieved her so much. 

"I cannot tell you, Michael, because there is nothing that can be done. I cannot change this fate, no matter how much I wish I may." 

Michael snorted. "Fate is weaker than us. We are supreme beings, we can create and destroy as much as we seek."

"Pride," she chastised gently. 'Pride is dangerous Michael. Never forget why angels fall."

"No angel has fallen in the past three billion years," Michael argued. "There is not need to worry of Pride, it does not effect us. My Lady, if you have seen what the others have not, why have you not told us?"

"Because only I and the Father need to know," she replied in a clipped tone, allow some of her frustration to shine through. Her eyes flashed dangerously and Michael looked suddenly hard pressed not to take a step back. "And you will respect thus." 

"As you say," he sighed in a resigned tone. She glared at him, but let the moment pass. She could talk to him of it later. A cold silence fell between the two angels as they stood tensely in the chamber, the moon and starlight filtering through the slight transparency of their feathers while the sweet, haunting memories of the souls invited them to join in the everlasting peace. The Lady let out a content sigh, allowing her Grace to drift through the memories, bringing a trill of happiness to each soul she touched. She would not understand why none of her children could seem to find peace in Sanctuaries. What was more comforting than the touching of another person's soul, and leaving them with a lingering content that filled one's own Grace to the brim with joy? While she did this in part to store power for the battle to come, drawing off the belief of the souls around her, she had no other pastime she enjoyed as much. Human souls were so unique, it was amazing to feel the thought processes and the individuality that they possessed. Angels had only the slightest of freedoms. For the most part, they were bred soldiers. Scholars, writers, poets, engineers, inventors...none of these were the occupation of angels. It made her sad, in a way, to see such uniformity among sentient beings. She understood angels were proud (far too much so) of their functioning, but it irked her that they could be so blind in the ways of art and science, even after watching humans since the Dawn of Humanity. 

An irritated look on Michael's face caused her to comprehend he had asked her a question. She blinked and returned to herself, chiding her mind for having drifted from the subject at hand. Demons and the Fallen were gathering at the gates. Now was the time to prepare herself, not to wander down strange half-light paths of echoing thoughts.

"I am sorry," she apologized sincerely, "could your rephrase your question?"

Michael sighed. "I wanted to know if I should add any more Seraphs to the Fifth Garrison. The Garrison is composed mostly of cupids, and while they provide a useful aid on Earth, they are hardly fit for battle."

"They are the most capable archers you have," she mused as she considered his words, only half paying attention to her gentle reprimand. "If you stationed them correctly, they should prove most useful to your field troops. No, I believe Mariel will be enough to keep them from demonic harm, though I imagine she is hardly pleased by the promotion."

Michael chuckled for the first time, making the Lady's lips twitch in her own smile. An angel's laugh was rare, but when it occurred, it always rung out with a sincere and sweet force before fading like the ring of a bell- leaving a happier moment behind. "Hardly. Last I saw, she threatened them all with instant death should they decided to approach her."

"They are somewhat overly fond of physical contact," she agreed with another hidden smile. Her teasing was gentle enough to convey her true affection for her cupids, though she could name some angels who would be more than willing to "reprimand" a few for their interesting way of showing love. 

Michael's laugh had just begun to fade when both mother and son winced as one- feeling a sudden loss ache through their insides like fire. 

"Serphil." the Lady spoke softly, instantly locating the missing link in the spiritual chain connecting her and her Grace with the other angels.

"The first casualty," Michael agreed as his voice trembled in anger. Searing pain flared through the link as a blonde haired, slim figure suddenly appeared and crumpled before them. Michael caught her before she landed on the ground, her wings crumpled awkwardly to the side, feathers glued with drying blood. The Lady felt her heart leap into her throat, knowing this was the beginning of the end. She pushed aside the growing fear and apprehension, not daring to wish the future could be avoided.

"Hester!" Michael spoke the blonde angel's name as he tapped her forehead with his fingers, healing the stab wound in her side. "Where?" His single word was terse. She could see the tension in his strong shoulders as he waited impatiently for Hester to answer.

"Eastern gate," Hester gasped as she stood up. "Serphil..." 

"We know," Michael interrupted as he exchanged a look with the Lady. Hester bowed quickly to the both of them, always remembering her edict, even in war. 

"I must go to the Third Garrison, unless you have new orders...?"

"No," Michael informed her quickly, "Go. Good luck, and make haste."

Hester nodded and bowed once more to the Lady before vanishing in a flurry of wings.

Michael turned to her, and she saw the insecurity in his eyes, though he hid it well. She smiled softly, knowing what he would ask and knowing her answer would not please him. Still, Michael would be well in the end. He needed to trust her, his soldiers, and himself. If there was ever a profound flaw in the Archangel, it was his lack of trust. 

"Can you tell me nothing at all?" He begged slightly, eyes pleading. 

She shook her head and carefully strapped her helm in place, pinning her chocolate locks to her back. She stepped forward, catching the hurt in his eyes, and drew his head in as she kissed his iron-clad brow. Her thumb caressed the wing design on his helmet as she stared at her son with the love and pride only a mother could have for her child. 

"Have faith."

And then she was gone.


	2. Memories

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> ...Castiel Novak pulled up the beige trench coat collar over his chin, shivering as blue eyes blinked away the water droplets dripping from the clouds like celestial tears...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hiya Folks! So here is the next part of my prologue. Prologue has seven chapters BTW so you can expect a week of quick posting before I have to start taking my time. Sorry about that but, well...life is so intrusive. If you notice some grammar mistakes, you have my apologies, this is just me and my crappy editing so I'm bound to have missed something. Hopefully my (kinda) plot editor will catch any plot holes but if you notice something please let me know! Anyway here you are. Enjoy.

Chapter Two: Memories  
-Within Temptation  
All of my memories  
Keep you near  
In silent moments  
Imagine you'd be here  
All of my memories  
Keep you near  
The silent whispers, silent tears

 

The storm wasn't supposed to happen. The weather reporters were stunned, overcome by confusion at the sudden storm originating over Kansas. The dark clouds had literally appeared in the sky- swirling like paint over a grey canvas and bringing rain and hail with them. Castiel Novak pulled up the beige trench coat collar over his chin, shivering as blue eyes blinked away the water droplets dripping from the clouds like celestial tears. He would have brought an umbrella if the weather reports hadn't specifically stated it would be a sunny Kansas day. It would have been amusing, the "professionals" failing to report a storm cloud this enormous- if he hadn't been the one walking in the rain. The book bag slung over his shoulder was, at least, mercifully light for once. Normally it was crammed to the seams with heavy textbooks and pencils, but today was a Friday and his teachers had apparently decided they had tortured their students enough over the week to give them minimal homework over the weekend. 

It was good news, mainly because he had a three hour shift at the library after school and then a full day shift on Saturday. On Sunday was Church with his sister, and by the end he could never find the motivation to do much more than lay down and try and catch up on lost sleep. Ergo, most of his weekend homework was inevitably done on Friday, when everyone else was busy sleeping, watching movies or attending "secret" parties. 

More rain dripped down from his drenched hair and rolled down his back- soaking his thin grey T-shirt with moisture. He was just glad that Kansas rain was far cleaner than almost everywhere else- not that it would change the fact he still had to shower when he finally got home. If the library wasn't busy tonight, he hoped Ellen would let him go home early so he could nab the hot water before his little sister Anna got home from her friend's house. Anna was barely seven, and she already took showers at least two hours long. Cas could never understand it. Showers were meant to clean one self with soap and moisturize and condition hair, not stand in them for hours on end singing bad pop songs. In addition, their crummy apartment only had one small heater- meaning second or third to the shower was certain to get ice-cold water. It wasn't so bad after a while, or at least he had gotten used to having his showers cold. Plus, if he was honest with himself, he would end up saving most of the hot water for Anna anyway. She was his little sister after all, and what little he could offer her to make their harsh lives easier was everything he would give.

The old asphalt streets were damp with slick rain now, pooling in the cracks of the sidewalks and running in streams down the concrete gutters. Normally, he would have done his best to stick by the shop awnings over the sidewalk to avoid getting soaked with freezing rain, but he was already beyond redemption. It was nicer to stay out in the rain, cold though it was, and enjoy the beating droplets running down his face, his neck, his back, and dripping in puddles from his sopping hair. Cas closed his eyes and allowed the rain to pound away the day's hurts and aches into a numbness coming from what he sure was probably hypothermia. Perhaps the thought of catching pneumonia should have alarmed him, but he couldn't muster the energy to be concerned. It was far easier to trudge through the rain and the numbness to the glass door of the small modern-styled library than duck from awning to awning anyway.

He let himself in and pushed back his dripping hair, feeling slightly guilty for the puddle he was leaving on the tile flooring. The annoying customer bell rang as he opened the door, instantly alerting Ellen to his presence. He stood, shivering, in the entrance chamber while Ellen buzzed the second door into the library open for him. It amused him, the amount of security she kept to protect her precious books. You would think the place was holding the Crown Jewels instead of some musky paperbacks. Then again, old Bobby Singer had left the place to her after his death in '06, so she probably guarded it like a dragon in his beer-sodden memory.

The door opened an inch and Cas stuck his hand out quickly to push it open as he wrung out his soaking sleeve as best he could from the rain. He had barely the time to appreciate the oak shelves filled with the paper and ink scent of fresh books, the light perfume Ellen never went without, and the warm golden light cast by the reading lamps that chased away the darkness of the storm before he was being mauled by his boss in the form of a Southern hug.

"Castiel!" She drew him in for a tight embrace, evidently ignoring the fact he was dripping wet. "Boy, you had better not drip over my new books," she chided him as she gripped his upper arm and steered him to the bathrooms, most likely to find him a towel to dry him off. "What did you do, jump in a lake before you got here? It'll be a miracle if you don't catch pneumonia, walking around soaked like that. You get sick enough as is." Cas winced when he heard that. He hated lying to Ellen, but she would go ballistic if she knew what really was happening when he was "sick." 

"What in God's green earth were you thinking?"

He smiled to himself as he allowed Ellen to grab a towel from her personal bathroom and vigorously dry his black hair- managing to make it even more rumpled than usual. 

"It wasn't supposed to rain," he complained by way of explanation, cowering slightly at the evil eye she gave him in return. 

"I don't care if it's pouring cats and dogs out there, you had better get your ass here dry and clean before I swat you. Understood?"

Cas rolled his eyes and ducked quickly to avoid the stinging slap from the damp towel- but still receiving it anyway. He grumbled as he rubbed his cheek but eyed Ellen apologetically, making her melt at the sight of his big blue eyes. "Stack those books properly now," she ordered with a smile as she ran her fingers through his messy black hair. Cas smiled and bowed teasingly before running out to avoid the second swipe she snapped at him with the towel. It was close enough for him hear the crack of the fabric and the feel the current of air passing by his leg, but still mostly missed him. Instead of pursuing, however, Ellen seemed content to holler after him, "Don't you dare drip on my books, boy!"

He smiled to himself as he entered the back room and pulled out the designated cart full of books meant for him to re-shelf. The lighting in the back room was crappy at best- given the amount of dust fallen on everything but the practically polished books Ellen hoarded for herself and her daughter, Jo. The bare light bulbs, however, had fared far worse than anything else. They flickered and died more often than not, plunging Cas into complete darkness. He had suffered more than one stubbed toe that way. 

The crammed oak shelves were filled with damaged books ranging from: dropped-in-my-hot-tub to accidentally-lit-on-fire. He eyed one particularly irreparable novel and sighed wearily. He and Ellen did everything they could to keep the small library running and all the books in immaculate condition- but despite the ten to thirty dollar damage fee, the library customers were noticeably less gentle. He reverently placed the book back on the shelf with the silent oath he would do his best to fix it later. Now though, he really needed to restock the shelves.

Cas wheeled the one working cart out of the back-room, being sure to push gently for fear of the loose front wheel that spun in endless, insane circles. He decided to start at Fantasy, Fiction and work his way around the room. Ellen had emerged from the bathroom while he was in the back room and sat patiently at the front desk, monitoring the security while rifling through recently returned books with a quick, through eye. A homely quiet fell on the two as they labored in relative silence, punctured by only the light slap of rain on the window panes, the occasional shout of children slipping and sliding in mud puddles, and the beep of car horns from impatient drivers. 

The only downside to the silence was the fact it gave Cas far too much quiet to think. He wondered how Anna was doing, which wasn't unnatural for him. He worried about his little sister nearly every minute of every day. But, his concern this time was more aimed at how she was going to get home. She certainly couldn't walk home alone, and he hardly trusted Father to drive her. Father was drunk far too often, forgot far too often, and got in crashes because of his intoxication far too often for Cas to ever trust him with Anna again. Mr. Novak knew it too. It was often the reason he gave when he decided to use Cas as his personal punching bag, if he gave a reason. 

Just three weeks ago he had been pounded by Father over Anna. Father had promised he would take Anna home from school so that Cas could go over to his friend's house to do a school project. However, four hours later, Cas got a call from a sobbing, hysterical Anna explaining how Father had failed to pick her up and when she had finally walked home with her English teacher, Ms. Jones, she had gone inside only to find Father far too occupied with some unknown woman on the couch. When she had seen it, Anna had run outside to her teacher who had waited for the woman to leave before storming inside to give Mr. Novak a verbal lashing for his abandonment of his daughter. He had been apologetic to the teacher, kind and overall his fake pleasant and charismatic self- somehow ending up with Ms. Jones phone number before the teacher had left. Then he had rounded on Anna...

Cas had run home as fast as his legs could carry him, finding Ana cowering by the attic stairs, her eye badly bruised, tears staining her cheeks and soft whimpers in her throat as their Father towered over her. Anger had risen inside like an unstoppable black tide and he had seen red. It was the first time Cas had struck his father first- a right hook to the ribs that had sent the rage-drunk man stumbling to the side. Cas had planted himself in front of Anna and had ordered her to run as he faced down his father, knowing what would come next and doing his best not to shy away from the blows when they were thrown. 

"Stay the hell away from my baby sister." Cas had snarled in his dangerous, flat voice. Mr. Novak's nostrils had flared as he growled at his son in fury.

"She's my daughter and I'll do what I damned well please to her." He stunk, but it wasn't alcohol Cas smelled on him, just the stench of sex; which was nearly as bad. 

"Go to hell," Cas had replied, all his energy spent in trying his hardest not to slug his father in his beautiful aristocratic face. 

"You are my son," his father had advanced, his meaty fists clenched tight enough for Cas to see the veins popping from indignation. "You sleep under my roof, eat my food, and spend my hard earned money. You will give me my due respect!" He had worked himself into a frenzy toward the end, a red flush rising on his high cheekbones. 

Hearing the last words were what broke him. Cas was not normally a brave soul. He did his work in class, spoke quietly, kept his head down and did his best to succeed for Anna. She was so proud of her "smart ass brother" that he didn't have the courage to let her down. Ellen and Jo Harvelle were the exceptions to the rule, along with Anna and his father. With Ellen, Jo, and Anna he could be teasing and more confident than with any one else. With his father, all he usually felt was disappointment and the bitter taste of rage. 

But those words were the last straw. No one touched his little sister, not unless they wanted a fight they were destined to loose. Cas may not have been tough or threatening at first glance, but under the Church boy facade, he had muscles lean from running cross-country. He was tough enough to stand his father's frequent beatings, and that meant he was tough enough to fight anyone who might disrespect his sister. Castiel liked the peaceful solution, but for Anna he would take on anyone at anytime, his father included. 

"Respect?!" Cas burst out in hollow, bitter laughter. "Are you joking? Respect? You deserve as much respect as dirt, as much respect as the child and wife beating, drunk ass, son-of-a-bitch you really are! Don't tell me to respect you. I'll respect you when you damn well deserve it, you-"

He never got to speak the last words, drowned out as they were by his father's bull-like roar and the large hook that had slammed into his chest with the force of a hammer. Cas had chocked, winded by the blow, and fell to his knees only to hauled upright by harsh fists. 

"I will beat respect into you, Castiel. You will learn respect or you'll never breath again!"

Cas had felt his chest hammered by another blow, had felt the fist that drove in his shoulder with enough to force to make it pop. His knee had banged on the floor as he fell, his back now taking the brunt of damage as his father pounded mercilessly. Cas couldn't hold back the screams as he fell onto his hands, his left arm crumpling and he rolled in a fetal position, doing his best to ignore the kicks that broke his body like an iron bat...

He must have blacked out somewhere during his beating- because he woke up to Anna's hiccuping crying as she clutched his hand and sobbed behind a curtain of rusty auburn hair. He had tried to smile at her, but he was in so much pain he hadn't been able to force the gesture to come out right. Instead it was more a pain filled grimace that wouldn't have convinced a blind man. Anna had cried and clung to him, her cheap lemon smelling shampoo filling his nose as her tears wet his navy blue shirt dribbled with blood from his split lip. At least his nose hadn't been broken, which was a blessing in disguise of his very painful back.

"I want to leave!" Anna had sobbed in his chest, her smooth hands clinging to his side with an intensity that had made Castiel hiss in pain. She had noticed, her eyes going wide as she sniffled at him, "Cassie, I'm sorry. Please, Cassie, I wanna go. I wanna go!" She had buried her face into his chest again, while he had forced his numb arm around her back, wincing as a sharp spike of pain penetrated the overall dull thud of agony. His father's shadow had fallen over his two kids, his face twisted and hard, an empty beer bottle in one hand. 

Cas had eyed the bottle in fear, wondering if his father intended to break it and slice him with it as he had done before. He still had scars from that. Cas had hugged Anna protectively in his shirt, unable to shot a look of defiance toward his father like he longed to. The beating had hurt him enough to take the take the edge off his taste for open rebellion. It was weak and he hated himself for it more than he could ever hate his father, but he knew he couldn't suffer again tonight without something breaking. It didn't matter if it was his body or his spirit to his father, as long as his son didn't make the mistake of crossing him again for a while.

He avoided his father's demanding eyes, licking his lips as he felt the inward struggle between obedience and relief from pain; or suffering longer and harsher for the sake of pride. With a twist in his gut from his weakness, Cas looked at the floor and whispered in a voice hoarse from screaming.

"I'm sorry, Father." He had winced and felt tears pop in his eyes from the pain and shame of the situation. His self-loathing burned in his stomach, along with a desperate need to take his apology back, but he couldn't. He was too weak, too broken.

His father marched over and shoved Anna roughly out of the way before dragging his only son to his feet, beer bottle rolling nosily on the floor from where he had dropped it. 

"Say it to my face, coward," Castiel heard the poisonous words whispered in his ear. He almost gaged at the hot air that had washed over his face smelling of stale beer and bad breath. He had forced himself to look into his father's electric blue eyes that were neigh identical to his own, excepting the shine of malice and fierce pleasure at being able to cripple his son so effectively. A tremble of fear made his knees go weak. He was used to seeing a drunken and dull look in his father's eyes after a beating, not this sharp, cold and calculating glint that made Castiel realize how much his father had grown to enjoy beating his son. Somehow, knowing he was sober made it worse. 

"I-I" a pitt formed in his heart but he forced out the words. He could't take another beating. He just couldn't. "I'm sorry, Father."

Blue eyes met blue and his father had snorted and soothed down Cas's T-shirt like they had just had a good family talk instead of just having beat the shit out of his son. "Good," he said silkily. "Anna, I know you're there. Go get your brother some pain medication from the bathroom cabinet, top shelf." He smiled charmingly at Castiel who had to grit his jaw to keep from spitting on that perfect face. "He tripped and fell again." So that was his reward for breaking. It usually was. If he didn't apologize he either got another beating- or if his father was too busy to do so, got withheld from pain medication.

He pushed his son back into the stairs who let out a gasp of pain as hard wood slammed into tender wounds, the involuntary tears dripping down black eyelashes. 

"Good night Castiel."  
\-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Blue eyes snapped open as Cas leaned against the library shelf, panting from the flashback, his muscles aching from the mere memory of that night.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> DISCLAIMER: most of these characters belong to the Supernatural TV series and I claim no credit for their creation.


	3. Stand My Ground

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> ...He shook in fury, his blue eyes glowing with a fierce light. In the shadows of the storm, he looked ancient with righteous anger, his stance the pose of a warrior ready to face death for the sake of Truth. He glared hard at his father, knowing to attack was to make himself just as bad as the man he hated. Weak he may be, but he would never sink to Mr. Novak's level. His eyes hardened and his resolve stiffened into iron...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Have another prologue. IF YOU HAVE DIFFICULTY WITH VIOLENCE, YOU MAY NOT WANT TO READ THIS. This chapter has abuse in ever sense of the term. I know we all can't take certain things, so here's the warning I really should have given the last chapter too (Ops) Anyway, enjoy!

Chapter Three: Stand My Ground  
-Within Temptation

Stand my ground, I won't give in  
No more denying, I've got to face it  
Won't close my eyes and hide the truth inside  
If I don't make it, someone else will  
Stand my ground

 

The memory had him seized over, his head resting on the library shelf, the previous feeling of peace all but done for. He closed his eyes and replayed his father's smug expression in his mind's eye over and over again. He hated the bastard, hated him so much, and yet he had to rely on him for Anna. Had to get his high school degree, get a full ride to a college and get her the hell away from that crazy bastard since their mother was unwilling to do so. 

Ellen was suddenly there, her eyes wide with fear as she grasped his shoulder. "Castiel? Honey, are you feeling alright?"

Cas winced from the pain, his back wounds having mostly healed expect for the molten bruising decorating his spine in swirls of color like oil paint brushed sloppily on tan paper. His memory made him jerk away from the hand, half-expecting it to become a fist. He knew Ellen never would, ever, but it was too much for him. It was just too damned much.

Her brown eyes sharpened with sudden realization and before Castiel could stop her, she grabbed his hand and led him back to the bathroom where she sat him on the counter. The harsh florescent lighting was too bright after the gentle golden glow of the library. Cas winced and screwed shut his eyes, gripping the sterile white counter with tight knuckles. He hated the look in Ellen's eyes, like she was aware of what she was going to find but had to ask anyway.

"Take off your shirt," she ordered gently. He froze, panting as chilled sweat beads rolled down his face. "Off, Castiel."

"Please," he whispered, not wanting the only person who treated him normally to pity his miserable existence. "Ellen, please."

She crossed her arms and said nothing in reply. She didn't have to say anything. The glint of determination and sheer stubbornness in her liquid brown eyes were enough to convince him it was hopeless. With a weary sigh, Cas hopped off the counter, wincing at his bruised knee, and removed his shirt.

It was short and horrible, the way her eyes widened and her mouth went slack from surprise. Whatever she had been expecting, this was clearly not it. 

"Oh my god..." Ellen whispered as she gently traced a giant swollen purple bruise that curved with his spine. In the spotless mirror, Cas glanced at his mutilated body with a wince, quickly avoiding his eyes from the sight. Ellen firmly turned him around, taking in the large bruise on his chest where his father's hook had caught him 

"Who did this to you?" She breathed, fury filling in the lines of her face. Suddenly a whoosh of breath escaped his lips and Cas started to cry. He hated himself for it, but he couldn't have helped it if he wanted to. He had expected the pity, but not the rage that had tightened Ellen's face. It hurt him and healed him to know that this blessed woman cared for him so much that she was willing to tan the backside of anyone who dared lay so much as a finger on him again. 

He sobbed into her shoulder for what seemed hours, breaking down every time he thought he had a handle on his emotions. It felt so good to be able to cry on someone, to be able to let Ellen carry him for a while. And every time he looked at those furious brown eyes, he broke again, weeping his heart out until her shirt was wet through. 

"I'm sorry," he muttered and wiped the tears from his eyes. "Ellen, I'm so sorry." 

"Shush, Cas," Ellen ran her fingers through his hair soothingly, cradling his head like a baby's. "Shush."

He lay sat there for a moment longer, letting Ellen sooth his hurts away. It felt so good, to have this type of parental love and caring that he and Anna were so starved of. Anna. His gut twisted and he pulled away from Ellen, pushing his damp shirt over his head as he wrinkled his nose involuntarily from the stench of fear-sweat. Ellen watched him with large eyes, her hand gently grabbing the inside of his elbow as he went to leave.   
"Castiel, why don't you stay at the Roadhouse with me," she pleaded slightly, naming the bar she and Jo ran and lived in. He hesitated, not knowing what to say. The thought of going back to his house made him almost physically sick. His father had been gone on a "business" trip they clearly couldn't afford, but he would be back tonight for the first time since Castiel's beating. He wanted so badly to take Ellen's offer, but there was always that one, fined boned, auburn haired reason that held him back: Anna. He couldn't just leave her there on her own. Ellen would have to take Anna in too, at the Roadhouse, and he didn't want to infringe on her hospitality. He hesitated and went to shake his head, but Ellen gripped his thick black hair firmly and held him so he was forced to stare into her dark brown eyes.

"Anything you need, Cas," she told him as gold flared in her eyes like lightning, "Anyone or anything and you tell me."

He understood the implications. Ellen would let him go home and pack his things and pick up Anna before they stopped at the Roadhouse. He was so glad, so very glad, that she was providing a practical solution to help him and his baby sister instead of offering sympathies dripping in hated pity. Right now, Cas loved Ellen with all his heart and soul. He couldn't express it with words, instead giving her a grateful look to convey all his affections before rushing out of the room. 

God bless you, he thought as he slid open the door and grabbed his coat before hurrying down the rain soaked streets to Anna. The Lord knows you deserve it. 

______________________________________________________________________________

 

Anna looked at him with worried eyes. He had shown up at the doorstep to a nice, suburban household with an apple-pie American Dream family and an actual freaking white picket fence- grabbed his sister and rushed her out before anyone could ask why. He did regret his lack of tact, but it was his hope that if they got home soon enough, they may be able to join Ellen and Jo at the Roadhouse before his father got home. 

"Cassie, where are we going?" Anna complained as she dragged her feet on the sidewalk, her hair damp from the rain though Cas had been very clear that she was to remain under the shop awnings. Cas, meanwhile, was dripping wet again, but he was far too concerned with his current problems of what to pack and what he should tell his father. He knew his dad would not give a damn if Anna disappeared- he considered the girl to be all but useless, but if Cas was to vanish- his dad would be furious. Castiel did work for most of the money, and his father had the strange inclination that Castiel would take to the Army after graduation and give his man a nice house and benefit package. It was rather stupid, on his father's part, to assume Cas would, because if he did join the Army, all his money was going to Anna, period. And he would be damned if his father was going to touch a blessed penny of it.

"Cassie?" His sister's curious voice caught his attention once more. Right. Anna had no idea that Ellen had offered to take the two of them in the Roadhouse. He wasn't sure if he would be able to stay, but he did know that he was never bringing Anna back to that crap apartment ever again. 

"Anna, do you know how to get to the Roadhouse?" He asked as he knelt by her side and latched onto her fingers. 

She nodded, looking whiter than a ghost while her flaming red hair floated in curls around her fine boned face. Cas felt sadness stirring in his heart. Anna looked so lost, so afraid. No child should have that kind of fear on their small, delicate faces. Inside that regret for his failure to protect her, and that sadness at her fear, he also felt another wave of red-hot anger break over him. Their father had done this, knowingly and without regret. Abuse to himself he could manage, but abuse to Anna was beyond the line. He gently traced the curving bruise barely visible on her pale skin and leaned to brush his lips over her forehead.

"Go down to the Roadhouse," he order her slowly, making sure those wide eyes understood every word. "It's just down the street. Do you need me to walk you there?" Anna shook her head soundlessly, causing a twinge of pain. Children were made to laugh and smile and run and play, not stand like ghosts- to afraid to make noise. Children should think their invincible, not understand just how quickly and violently their lives could be ripped away.

"Stay there," He continued, trying to keep the quiver from his voice. "We're staying there, all right?"

Anna clung to his thin, wet T-shirt and whispered in his ear, "What about you? What about our things? What about Father?" She buried her head in his jacket, snuggling next to him like a small puppy. Cas felt horrible when he realized she was shaking like a leaf. "I'm scared."

He had to lighten the tension. He couldn't admit to Anna he was terrified as well. He had to ease her mind, had to make her smile again. Cas gripped her shoulders and tried for a soft smile, his lips trembling at the effort. "It'll be fine. I'll grab Mr. Nibbles for you, alright?" He referred to her stuffed rabbit that wore a monocle, a buttoned vest and had a carrot in his paw. Mr. Nibbles was her first stuffed animal (and her only), given to her by Castiel in better days, before Mother and Father separated. She loved that rabbit as if it was her best friend- which in a sad way- it was. 

Anna seemed to understand what he was trying to do, even if he failed at it horribly. She smiled and nodded back, pushing herself up on trembling legs and walking toward the neon sign of the Roadhouse. Cas watched her until she entered the building before turning away and continuing home. He assumed Jo would be there. She would give Anna a smile, a free soda ("it's on the house kid,") and would entertain her between customers with funny stories and weird faces. Jo was so much better at entertaining children than he was. Cas always felt awkward with most people, and even though he had a soft spot for children, he was never very good at communication. Anna, Ellen, and Jo were about the only people he was ever "himself" with. Perhaps the guidance counselor, Missouri, at his high school was right and he needed to trust more people- but it was hard to trust someone when your own parent meant to nurture, lead, and guide you was the one punching your eye in every night.

Cas pushed down his collar, seeing the effect of having it up was merely making water run down his neck and back. He didn't bother to bow his head to the rain or the newly rising wind. Instead, he walked with his arms stiff by his side- exposing himself to the elements like a lamb to slaughter. He did pick up his pace, however, as the first sheet of lightning flared across the sky, followed by a rolling boom of thunder. Cas's breath hitched in his throat as he moved his feet faster. The six second interval between the lightning and thunder meant the storm was supposedly six miles away. He wasn't sure why he had this urgency to race the storm- but the need he had and he followed his instincts. Somehow, if the storm got over the city before he was safe inside the Roadhouse, something terrible was going to happen. He could feel it, in the clench of his gut and the rising tension in his shoulders.

He ran down the last street and pushed open the rusty iron gate to the apartment complex with a squeal of protesting hinges. His footsteps echoed eerily across the empty, weed infested courtyard before he fumbled with his keys and unlocked the faded and paint peeling blue door into the small apartment.

Cas didn't bother to flick on the hallway light switch. Enough filtered sunlight was stretching through the windows for him to see, so it was pointless to bother with the florescent tubes that only worked half the time anyway.

Cas barreled into his own room and snatched a backpack he had first prepared when he was five. Every year, he would unpack old things and repack new things, in case he was ever afforded the opportunity to run away with Anna. He had no intention of sicking around in this hell hole any longer than absolutely necessary. He raced into Anna's a-joining room and began snatching her more loved possessions and shoving them into a pink duffel he found under the bed. He packed Mr. Nibbles last, placing him nearly reverently on top, glancing around the still full room with a tinge of regret. Knowing his father, once he realized his children had run away, he would burn everything they left behind out of spite.

Cas flew into the bathroom- ignoring the mold growing in the bowl of the toilet seat- and quickly zipped their travel toothbrushes and toothpaste into their bags- alone with Anna's blue plastic hairbrush. Ellen would provide anything he missed. 

So busy was Castiel with preparing their bags, he didn't hear the familiar roar of a truck engine- the slam of the car door and the slurred steps of a drunken man until the gate squealed. By then, it was already far too late. He froze, bags in hand, as the front door was slammed open- his Father blinking in surprise that it was unlocked. Then his sharp blue eyes found his son's, wide with fright, and it took a moment for his sodden brain to process what it was he was seeing. Then, Cas saw his eyes almost literally brighten with enlightenment. 

"You-you," he father spat on the floor and advanced, his stride off-balance as his feet pounded on the tile floor. "You're running away?!?" Cas gulped and held his ground, trying to ignore his rapid beating heart. For Anna, he reminded himself as he backed into the second hallway, his back bumping against the attic stairs. Be brave for Anna.

"You don't deserve to have children," Castiel snapped. "I'm not staying here. I'm done."

"You're done?" His father stopped, his voice deadly silent. "Yes," he mused softly, "yes, I think you're done." 

Cas felt a thrill of horror crawl up his spine. His father screamed and shouted- never stood so still as he blocked the hallway with planted feet and sneered at his son. "Go on then," he turned to the side, opening a space for Castiel to walk through. "Leave. You're done, aren't you?"

Cas blinked. He tensed quickly, staring at the gap and then back at his father. This was real, wasn't it? He couldn't actually be allowing him to just walk away. Was this all a dream? Would he wake up and find out he hadn't even gone to school yet?

"Well?" his father's dead tone wavered with a hint of impatience. Cas jumped forward, as if springing would surprise his father enough to let him whisk by without fear of a blow to the side. To his amazement, his father didn't hit him, nor hurt him in any way. But as he turned back in confusion, he saw such malicious expression in those blue eyes, he knew what was coming next would hurt more than any punch.

"But it looks like you're missing something," His father smiled grimly. 

Cas knew he needed to run. He needed to get the hell out of Dodge and never come back. But he was frozen by those cold, calculating blue eyes blurred slightly by the strong drinks his father loved to indulge himself in. He stood like a deer in the headlights as his father smiled with a warm, syrupy-sweet, and deadly poisonous white toothed grin. 

He pulled out slightly crumpled papers from his old jacket and held them up for Cas to see. "Your darling mother lost her court case. Now, she can't come near you without my express permission." His stomach dropped to his feet. Castiel and his mother had never been particularly close, but when she did come around, he found he associated the days with the happier memories of his. She had adored Anna as well, which instantly made her like the sun in Cas's eyes. To be told she couldn't come near them, her own children, without her abusive husband's permission.... 

"You and Anna are mine now, Castiel. Mine now forever. So go ahead. Run out that door. The police will find you before you make it out of town, and even if that bitch Ellen is willing to lie to the law for you..." his father grinned even wider at Cas's startled expression. "What, did you think I didn't know where you spend your time? I also know where she and her pretty blonde daughter live. If it comes down between saving you and Anna or saving Jo, who do you think she'll choose?"

His heart skipped a beat and then resumed it's fifty mile and hour dash. Of course Ellen would choose Jo, she was her daughter. Cas couldn't expect Ellen to choose a stranger's child over her own flesh and blood. And Jo- smiling, charming, funny, sharp witted Jo- could not get hurt because of him. He couldn't ruin her life with his problems.

"If you touch a hair on her head-" Cas started to threaten, his rage rearing with fear and hurt. His father held up a hand and laughed.

"Me? Of course not. If Jo Harvelle get's hurt, that's on you, Cassie." Mr. Novak sneered, using Anna's pet name for his son.

"Don't you dare use that name!" Cas snarled, stepping forward, the unzipped top of duffle flapping forward. "Don't. You. Dare."

"I'm your father, boy. I can dare to do anything I please. Now, here are your options. You will either go fetch your sister and be back within half an hour, or you try and run away and have either myself or the police track you down. And I can guarantee, Castiel, that if you could barely stand your last punishment, you can't begin to imagine what will happen if you try and run. Not to mention..." His father smiled wickedly, his face half shrouded in shadows from the beating storm. "that for every second you're gone, I'll add a bruise to Anna's face."

Castiel snapped like a twig. He shook in fury, his blue eyes glowing with a fierce light. In the shadows of the storm, he looked ancient with righteous anger, his stance the pose of a warrior ready to face death for the sake of Truth. He glared hard at his father, knowing to attack was to make himself just as bad as the man he hated. Weak he may be, but he would never sink to Mr. Novak's level. His eyes hardened and his resolve stiffened into iron.

"If you try and find me," he whispered in a voice colder than death. "If you try to harm me, Anna, Mother, Ellen, or Jo ever again, I will find the police on my own." His father blinked, unable to understand the threat Castiel was making. "I will show them every bruise, every cut, and every scar you have ever given me. I'll show them, and I'll tell them everything." His father's nostrils flared and Cas felt grim triumph in his heart. His father always cared about his public image. For everyone to know about his child and wife beating habits would be social suicide. "I share the entire sob story," Cas continued, knowing he should stop but feeling so good as being able to make his father flinch with pain. This bastard had beat on him for years. He deserved every ounce of pain Castiel's words could bring. "I'll tell how you beat me, cut me, how you drank every night and how I had to work to feed my poor baby sister. I'll tell them how you beat me for the first time at age six, how you broke my arm at eight and snapped three fingers on my left hand at nine. I'll tell everyone the truth about you, and sit back and watch as the tabloids eat up my sob story and crucify you on your own cross of hate." Cas breathed in deeply, taking a breath after his tirade. His voice sook with excitement at finally being able to return the pain his father had dealt out for sixteen fucking years. 

Mr. Novak stood there, papers in hand, his chest heaving like he had just ran a sixty mile race. Cas smiled the same vicious, white toothed smile his father had smiled before and delivered one last verb blow to the beating. 

"Have a nice life," he snarled and spun on his heel to leave. He didn't even take his first step when a force slammed him into the wall. Cas groaned in surprised pain as his father gabbed the lapels of his jacket and shook him like a rat. 

"You are mine!" He screamed and slammed his fist across Castiel's angular cheekbones. "You are mine!"

He yanked on Cas's hair as his son writhed in agony, pushing his head down and slamming his kneecap into Cas's chest. Cas screamed as something inside him snapped, a horrible caving sensation echoing in his chest. His numb fingers dropped the duffel bag and backpack as he fell forward after his father stomped in his right knee, breaking the bone and pushing his knee in the wrong way. 

And then every thing seemed frozen, suspended in time. The pain didn't recede, but it no longer seemed as important as before. When he landed on the ground with a sick and bloody thud, Castiel seemed to realize that he had no fight left. He would lie there and die because he could not longer find the will to live through the pain and the harsh reality of his life. What did it matter? He was nobody, dead at the hands of nobody, leaving no impact on the world. If he had had more time, maybe he could have made a difference. Now though, his clock had all but run out. He was done. 

Lightning arched across the sky as Cas marveled at the wild beauty, his ears no longer hearing the screams of rage his father was screeching at him. Only one sound seemed to resonate in him: the rolling boom of thunder only a second after the flash of light. 

Storm's here, he thought sadly. Looks like I didn't make it.

More pain flared in his side and Cas groaned in agony, silent tears rolling down his battered face. Dazed blue eyes narrowed and widened as he tried to use his vision, but the room was rolling and shifting around him. He rolled to his side, his chest screaming in pure torture as his gaze landed on the mess of the spilled duffels, with Mr. Nibbles lying on top. He stared at those black button eyes that looked back, sad and empty, as the ground pounded beneath him. Lightning flashed once more and he swore he saw calm, clear eyes gazing back at him- deep and wise like an impossibly peaceful pool lying beneath an azure sky. 

Anna. 

And then something hard and cold broke across his neck.

Castiel Novak lay on the floor of his father's apartment at four in the afternoon, blue eyes once blazing with electric life now cold and empty. 

He had been sixteen.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know what your thinking.... XD
> 
> Characters courtesy of Supernatural


	4. All I Need

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> ...He glanced at his watch, seeing the time was 3:14. He was mildly surprised- considering how dark the sky was for early afternoon. It unnerved him a bit. Something about this storm crawled under his skin, making him wish he were twenty states away. It was weird...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here's a another chapter for you. Yes, this one is fluffy to make you feel better. The next one....

Chapter Four: All I Need  
-Within Temptation

I'm here on the edge again  
I wish I could let it go  
I know that I'm only one step away  
from turning it around

 

It was fucking raining. Dean glared up at the cloudy sky, surprised that the warm sunlight he had been standing in had suddenly been blocked by dark storm clouds that filtered the warm golden light into a cold grey. He had frowned and shivered, suddenly pulling his leather jacket over his shoulders when the first kiss of icy rain dripped from the heavens. He pulled the coat closer to his shivering body and glanced at the shop across the street from him angrily.

John was taking forever, again. His father had ordered Dean outside while he shopped for the "perfect birthday gift." Dean had acquitted, only because his father had given him a begging look. He wasn't sure what to make of his dad any longer. 

Before, it had been obedience and loyalty to the point of idolatry. His father had been like the sun in his young eyes, before Dean had taken a year off as a freshman to help Bobby Singer at his auto shop after an accident had rendered his leg useless. Before Dean had left, John Winchester had still been a freaking god in his eyes. Even though he was depressed and grieving six years after his wife's death- he was still raising his sons, still fighting to live in a cold and harsh world. But now... when Dean had returned, he saw a side to his dad he had been so busy worshiping that he had never seen before. His father had a cold streak, a mean and vicious cold streak that Dean just wasn't sure what to do about. He had ignored it at first, which was a Dean Winchester specialty, and shoved his concerns in his chest, firmly repeating to himself that his dad could do no wrong. John was the kind of father Dean wrote about in "My Hero" essays. He was the kind of father Dean hoped he would be when he grew up. Now, he had grown up- and he could see his dad was so broken in comparison to his larger-than-life expectations. 

Still, Dean had ignored it the entirety of summer and fall. He probably could have ignored it his whole life- if not for that night two weeks ago. 

It crushed his heart, every time he thought of that look. 

Dean shook his head and tugged fruitlessly at the handle of his car. With an impatient growl, he stomped his feet and threw another dirty look at the shop. His dad had the keys, and it freaking freezing out. Then again, Dean considered with a weary sigh as he sat on the hood of Baby and caresses her shiny silver grill. Then again, being away from his dad was easier. He could relax, for once, instead of feeling tension so harsh in his shoulders he half expected to snap in half. After that night, the air between them seemed poisonous and thick like ozone before a lightning storm. It was charged with tension and irritating, like an itch neither could dare scratch, both full of words said and empty of words that needed saying. Problem was, neither men were good at expressing their feelings. When Mary Winchester was alive, she had been the mediator, the one to talk to and vent with. Now, six years later, Dean would still find himself looking over his shoulder for her, opening his mouth to ask her a question, or ambling around with a discontent feeling and no one to speak with. It burned in his chest, like a small wildfire, but he couldn't seem to smother the flames.

The rain increased but Dean couldn't find the will to get up off the car hood. His somewhat spiked hair flattened completely as the short hairs clung to his neck and forehead. His eyes closed and he raised his face, as if giving himself over to the storm. 

His birthday was today. He couldn't decide how he felt about that. With Bobby, he had gotten a cake and a beer. When Mary was alive, he had gotten presents and brownies along with that wonderful feeling of pure, unadulterated love. After Mary had died, his dad had been too drunk every birthday to do much more than pass out. And here he was, turning seventeen and not knowing how to feel about getting a present from his dad. He didn't want his birthday to be a pity event for his dad to make a half-assed apology without ever actually saying so aloud. Dean understood silent signals- he wasn't exactly a verbal person himself- but for once he just wished his dad would come out and admit the truth on what he had done. He wanted a sincere apology, and not just a lukewarm beer and cassette tape.

The door finally swung open and Dad struggled forward, glancing up at the rain in surprise. His arms were wrapped around big brown grocery bags, filled to the brim with all the unhealthy junk shit that Dean loved. He was probably going to die of a heart attack at thirty- but hell. He deserved his damn chips and burger.

"You're driving," his dad said, tossing the keys over at his kid. Dean blinked as the sharp metal slapped into his palm. His dad was overprotective as fuck over his car. Dean could barely sit in the damned thing- much less drive it. Gratitude chased away all the anger and guilt he felt toward his dad. John was trusting him with the car keys. John was trusting him with Baby. Clearly, this was the best birthday present he had ever received. Dean smiled at his dad, not his usual I-clearly-don't-really-give-a-fuck smile, but a genuine smile that made his Dad's face soften ever so slightly. 

Dean slipped reverently behind the wheel, grinning like a two year old on Christmas as he eased the stick into reverse and expertly maneuvered the car from the parallel park and onto the street. Even though he had only be legally driving since last year, he had been helping Bobby at his auto-shop since he was old enough to pick up a wrench. If there was one topic Dean was certain he was an expert at, it was cars. The engine purred from beneath the hood and Dean 's grin grew wide enough until he was sure it was gong to split his face in half. John reached over and turned on the music, blasting the air with beautiful rock-n'-roll. 

Rain spattered on the windshield, and Dean flipped on the wipers, still gripping the wheel with one hand as the other tapped away to AC/DC. In the rearview mirror, Dean saw lightning flash over the sky in beautiful electric sparks. Thunder rolled over the Kansas plains, and Dean counted a twenty second interlude. Clearly, the heart of the storm was coming closer.

He glanced at his watch, seeing the time was 3:14. He was mildly surprised- considering how dark the sky was for early afternoon. It unnerved him a bit. Something about this storm crawled under his skin, making him wish he were twenty states away. It was weird. 

Dean turned up the song and tried his hardest to let the beat drive the nervousness from his heart.   
______________________________________________________________________________

The second he and Dad were inside from the freezing rain, Adam tackled Dean's legs like a football player. Dean had just enough time to shove the bag into John's free hand before he went down onto the carpet, mock groaning.

He ruffled the hair of his small two year old brother before his grin turned into a grimace as Adam started used his chest like a trampoline.

"Dean! Dean! Dean!" chanted his little brother as he bounced and giggled. Dean laughed, turning slightly nauseous, and grabbed the two year old's arm, hoisting him into the air and spinning him in a circle, once he had planted his feet. Adam's laugh was bright and bubbly- just like everything was about the small blonde haired boy. Dean felt a smile pulling on his lips again. He let the two year old fall softly on the carpet, stretching his back and complaining.

"You're getting chubby there, buddy." He poked Adam's stomach, causing the toddler to giggle ecstatically before protruding his bottom lip in a mock pout. 

"I not chubby!" the boy protested, before pulling down on Dean's arms. The teenager reluctantly bowed down and allowed the two year old to scamper onto his back like a blonde money. Dean winced as Adam pulled on his short hair, still giggling madly. "You chubby!" Dean heaved with exaggerated huffs and puffs as he staggered around before belly flopping on the couch. Adam was laughing like mad, his eyes wide with glee.

"Dean?"

Dean sat up, pushing the two year old off his back to slid down the cushions with a whoop of excitement. Dean glanced up at his dad who was smiling fondly at his two sons. A hard knot of tension in his chest was relieved. His dad was not angry, for once. 

"You want to help put away groceries son?"

"'f course Dad," Dean replied quickly as he stood up with a sigh and rolled back his aching shoulders. He swooped down and captured Adam, tickling his sides mercilessly. Adam screamed with laughed and twisted violently as he tried to escape his older brother.

"No!" He tried to sound serious but failed miserably. "No, no, no! No tickle!"

"No tickle?" Dean teased, ruffling the boy's hair and pushing him into the kitchen. "No tickle if you help Dad and Dean put away groceries. I might even throw in a pie if you're extra good."

"No tickle!" Adam called back as he tottered over to the grocery bags and carefully pulled free a jar of crunchy Skippy Peanut Butter. With a look of great concentration- Adam tottered over to his brother and stood up on his tip toes with the peanut butter stretched overhead like a sacrificial offering. "Pea'na butter?" Adam grinning winningly. Dean laughed and accepted the jar, placing it carefully inside the silver colored refrigerator. With three people in the kitchen, it was quite crowed, seeing how the oven and dishwasher couldn't open up all the way without banging into the opposite wall, just as the refrigerator and pantry, stationed right next to the doorway, had to be opened with great caution for fear of slamming a metal or wood door into an approaching person's face. It seemed especially small with little Adam scampering around and taking up way too much room for a person as tiny as he was. 

"Thanks man," Dean commented as he ruffled his hand through Adam's wavy, thick blonde hair, just to make his baby brother laugh. Adam loved it when Dean ran his fingers through Adam's hair- partly because the little boy was a sucker for attention. Dean acquitted mostly for Adam and partly because he marveled at how his brother's hair and hands had yet to loose that baby-smooth quality while his own hair was coarse and his hands calloused by years working at Bobby's. "Why don't you run along and play with your Legos? Dad and I have it covered."

"Yes!" Adam agreed enthusiastically, running as fast as his pudgy baby legs could take him. Suddenly, he stopped and spun, giving Dean a puppy face. "Pie?"

A laugh echoed from behind the brothers and Dean blinked in surprise before allowing a slow smile to grow on his face. John's laugh was hoarse- as if he hadn't laughed in a very long time- but it was a laugh nonetheless. Dean eyed his dad as the faint light from the growing storm and the warm, yellow glow of the kitchen lightbulbs cast playful shadows over John's terse face, lighting up eyes normally black and dull. 

"Look's like you've taught him bad habits already!" Joked John with another smile. Dean snorted with laughter before realizing something even more amazing than Dad's laugh... he had just cracked a joke! Dean couldn't remember the last time John's had cracked a joke. It felt like years.

"Apple never falls far from the tree," he teased in return, earning another hoarse laugh. A warm glow lit up his insides, and for the first time, Dean felt that maybe his family had a chance of returning to normal. Maybe they finally could get past Mary Winchester's death and focus on the fact that they were alive. Maybe...

"Pie!" Adam inquired in a more annoyed tone. He pointed an accusatory finger at Dean. "I help. Pie!" 

"An excellent and elaborate point there kid," John smiled at Adam and picked him up with a groan. Adam shirked with laughter as John whispered something in his ear. Dean eyed them carefully, not wanting to ruin the moment, but still unsure if he could trust John around Adam. Dean loved his dad, and obviously John deserved his respect for not completely diving over the deep end when Mary died. But Adam was his little brother. Adam was a whole new ball park of trust. 

Before Dean could make up his mind on what to do, Adam and John starting chanting as one, "Pie! Pie! Pie! Pie!"

Dean rolled his eyes and shoved the carrots in the veggie drawer, which was clearly the least occupied drawer space wise. "Christ!" He finally submitted after the chant had grown loud enough to annoy the neighbors. "I'll get your fuc-" He caught himself and mentally chastised himself. He had made a promise, after all, to his Mom years ago after she had first heard him curse. "I mean, freaking. I'll get a freaking pie."

"Pie, Daddy!" squealed Adam in complete glee. He wiggled free of John's arms and scampered to Dean with a giant hug that almost knocked the teen over for real. Jesus, the kid was going to be a star football player when he grew up. "T'anks Dean!" 

"Tanks?" Dean questioned with a cock of his eyebrow. 

"Don't even think about it," snorted John as he threw the empty grocery bags into the trash can. Dean grinned, happy his family was happy. 

"Fair enough," he conceded. He grinned down at Adam who still had his legs trapped. "You want to pick a pie with me, Adam?"

"Yes-s!" Adam leg go of Dean's legs and did a small victory dance around the kitchen, being saved by Dad when he nearly crashed into the stove.

"Alright then champ," John smiled at his eldest son as he pushed little Adam out of the kitchen before he banged his head on the cabinets. "You and Dean go pick a pie and I think we'll celebrate Dean's birthday."

"Bur'day boy!" crowed Adam, racing to the front door. "Pie, Bur'day boy!" 

"Dad," Dean started, a warm flush growing over his cheeks. He honestly didn't want so much fuss. It felt too much like pity, considering how none of his other birthdays had received any attention. However, John just held up his hand and gave his son a stern look.

"You're having pie Dean, that's an order." He motioned to the car outside. "Now don't you dare crash my car." Dean snorted, still having to resist the urge to obey. Orders where the one rules he had been taught to never ignore. Wearing socks was a rule, but wearing shoes was an order- that kind of thing. Mary had been the only one concerned with rules, whereas John enforced orders with the strict Marine policy he had followed for years.

"Once a Jarhead, always a Jarhead," Bobby had frequently commented. Even though Dean's surrogate Uncle had used it more as an insult, he understood the principle could be applied in a more generous manner. John expected some things to be followed with the utmost sincerity. Taking care of Adam, for one thing, staying in school was another. So Dean understood the order was to take care of the car and of his baby brother, as much as he might have liked for the order to be eating pie.

"Yessir." He said as he threw a mock salute, earning a depreciative snort from his Dad as he marched over to Adam and let the two year old escape the confines of the house. Dean glanced back at his Dad- standing alone in the cramped kitchen, his face slightly sad.

"I love you son," His dad called as almost an afterthought. Dean felt his throat burn as he held back the sudden tears. His dad wasn't really one to say "I love you" and all that gooey stuff. He was a Marine, after all. John tried to say how much he loved his family with his expressions and body language, relying on words as a back up. Dean managed a smile as he croaked back:

"Love you too, Dad."

"Angels are watching over you," John smiled sadly as Dean felt a soft punch to his heart from the expression his mom had used to say to him every night before he fell asleep. All he could manage was a nod before shutting the door, leaving John facing a solid wood door in place of his son.

Adam tugged on Dean's sleeve, clearly impatient. "Wet," he complained to his older brother. Suddenly, Adam seemed to notice the tears Dean couldn't help that were streaming down his face. "You wet," Adam commented. Dean looked down at his little brother with that serious and thoughtful expression on his face. He couldn't help but think about when he had been four, and his family had been whole and happy. Adam would never get that. The best Dean and John could give him were the small and rare moments of happiness. They did their best though, trying to make up for Mary's absence. Dean still told his little brother what Mom had told him so many years ago: Angels are watching over you. But every time he said it, he couldn't help but hear the ghost of her soft voice; whispering it with the tender love and care only a mother could have for her child. 

"No cry, Dean." Adam suddenly was hugging him gently, as if his cool, suave, overprotective brother was as frail as the glass his meaty two-year-old hands' could break. "No wet. Pie." He stated firmly. Dean gave a watery smile and mentally yelled at himself for letting his emotions get to him like a thirteen year old girl. He was glad only he and Adam were outside in the growing storm. He had a reputation, after all.

Lightning flared, sending more blue sparks over the dark clouds in a silvery flash that left Dean blinking in surprise. Adam laughed and clapped his hands, the two of them still sheltered under the small front porch. 

"Pretty!" He proclaimed as he clapped his hands. 

"Yeah," Dean grinned. "Lightning's pretty awesome. Come on Adam, let's go get that pie."


	5. The Swan Song

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> ...Dean laughed and turned down Zeppelin to better hear the booming thunder rolling over the Kansas plains, as well as the soft crash of wet drops splashing against the window shield. Again, he had a cold feeling run down his back. Dean shivered and shifted his jacket to better cover himself. He felt like a ghost was breathing down his neck...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I kind of forgot to post yesterday...me thinks... Ops. Anyway you shall receive TWO news chapters today as either penance or because I'm sick and tired of editing my damned prologues. Tomorrow is the last one!!!!  
> Warnings for violence, blood, and language you should NEVER use in front of a two year old. (Though honestly? It's still pretty tame) but if you are one of those rare innocent and blessed people who can't stand graphic descriptions of blood and whatnot, you might not want to read this.  
> Enjoy!

Chapter Five: The Swan Song  
-Within Temptation

Is it a dream?  
All the ones I have loved calling my name  
The sun warms my face  
All the days of my life, I see them passing me by  
In my heart I know I can let go  
In the end I will find some peace inside  
New wings are growing tonight

 

Dean tapped the wheel of Baby, singing loudly, and rather off key, Adam right beside him. His little brother warbled off make-belief words, his tiny voice croaking happily alongside the beautiful tunes of Zeppelin. Dean would have laughed, if his voice had been any better.

More lightning flashed overhead, making Adam squeal with delight as he clapped his hands and chanting "Light! Lights! Lights!"

Dean laughed and turned down Zeppelin to better hear the booming thunder rolling over the Kansas plains, as well as the soft crash of wet drops splashing against the window shield. Again, he had a cold feeling run down his back. Dean shivered and shifted his jacket to better cover himself. He felt like a ghost was breathing down his neck.  
______________________________________________________________________________

The store was stationed in a courtyard filled with large neons signs advertising enough junk food to feed half the US. Dean opted for a small store at the end of the court, with considerably less space than the larger stores in the front. He knew the owner of the store though, and he also knew her pies were baked fresh.

Dean pushed open the door, causing a pleasant chiming sound as Adam raced inside happily. He took a deep breath and inhaled the scent of baking bread and delicious apple pie filling. He ran a finger through his hair, walking over to speak to the owner, Mrs. Tran, while making sure Adam didn't shove over the large racks of baked and imported goodies. 

"Well, well, well." Mrs. Tran raised a brow and looked him over with a sharp eye. "I heard the rhinoceros roar of that gas guzzling hunk of metal you call a car, but I expected the pleasure of John's company."

"Looks like you just got an upgrade," Dean joked as he leaned against the counter. "And Baby is the hottest, most well cared for hunk of metal your crappy excuse for a parking lot has ever had parked on it."

"Doesn't change the fact that car of yours could eat all the gas in the Middle East in under a week," shot back Mrs. Tran, a quirk on her lips. Dean felt his own smile growing on his face. 

"Everyone's a critic," He complained as she stepped from behind the counter and hugged him soundly. She was thin enough he could practically feel every bone in her body, while her scent smelled of warm bread, fresh from the ovens. 

"Get over it," she replied firmly before smacking his arm lightly. "You here to annoy me or are you planing on buying anything?"

"Dean!" came a delighted squeal before a blonde haired bullet came crashing through the precarious racks of food. "Deannnnnnnnnn!"

"Adam?!?" Dean blinked as a second toddler came charging after Adam, shirking with laughter. The boy ran to Mrs. Tran and half-tackled her in a hug. Dean smiled. He knew Mr. Tran and of course he knew Mrs. Tran, but hadn't met their three year old son before, despite his and Adam similarity in age.  
"Who's this?" He asked as the black haired three year old grinned up at him happily. Adam pulled on his shirt insistently.

"That Kevin," Adam told him in a no-duh voice. "I found pie."

"Hi, Kevin," He greeted the boy before ruffling Adam's hair as Mrs. Tran scolded Kevin for running through the store. "Come one Addie, go show me that pie."

"I not Addie," protested the boy with a wrinkled of his button nose. "I Adam. Pie."

Dean laughed as he allowed Adam to drag him through the rows of junk food until they reached the freshly backed pies that were, in Dean's opinion, Mrs. Tran's best bakery food. He knelt down and peered expertly at the different pies, reading the labels and discussing the merits of each pie with his enthusiastic student. 

"This here is a pumpkin pie, topped with whipped cream. Pumpkin pie is good, though it's a bit slimier than other pies."

"Me no like pumpkin."

Dean laughed, remembering a specific Halloween incident that had happened a year ago when he had first introduced Adam to pumpkin pie. The boy had liked the pie just fine, but somehow he had taken to the misguided belief that he could eat an actual, raw pumpkin and expect it to taste as yummy as the pie. Adam had refused anything even remotely resembling pumpkins afterward. 

"Alright, but I'm telling you man," Dean cast a longing glance at the pumpkin pie. "You don't know what your missing."

"I pick pie," Adam told him impatiently, gesturing to the bottom rack which was currently holding a french apple pie. Dean knelt down as the customer bell rang out, signaling the entrance of another customer into the small store. 

"Hmm... traditional apple, topped with cinnamon strudel with a light coating of vanilla frosting..." Dean's mouth was watering just reading the description. "Good choice man. You want to pick it up and we'll bring it to Mrs. Tran?"

"Pie!" Adam proclaimed happily as he gingerly lifted the medium sized pie from the iron bar rack and tottered up toward the front counter. Dean let him go alone, considering the fact that the store was tiny and that Mrs. Tran was one of the few people he trusted explicitly. They never talked about what happened with John two weeks ago, but the gratitude and bond was there, still lingering under the surface. Dean knew Adam was in safe hands with the Tran family, especially now that he saw she had her own kid who looked healthy, happy, and wholesome. 

Dean rolled back his aching shoulders once more, bothered by their constant tightness. He decided he needed to work out. There wasn't anything like a good sweat inducing work out to relieve tension. Maybe he should try introducing Adam to some of the machines, get the kid familiar with the stuff so that he could get on track with that star football career he always wanted. Dean knew Adam was only two, but he was already far more thoughtful than other two year olds, especially when it came to his career.

And he had done a hell of a lot better in trying situations than grown adults. That had to count for something.

Suddenly, a scream from his baby brother ricocheted around the small store, piercing and terrifying. Dean's heart stammered in his chest and he mentally recalled John's order. He was supposed to take care of Adam. He needed to defend Adam, and now he might be too late.

Dean ran through the isle, reaching the front desk in time to see a man with shaking hands pointing a gun at Mrs. Tran while Kevin cowered behind her legs. 

"Just give me the money!" the man's voice was more desperate than threatening. "Come on lady, I need the money. Just give it to me!"

Dean eyed the man with a tactic eye, trying to throw his emotions down until he had the time to deal with them. The guy was wearing a grey coat, his chestnut brown hair flattened to his head by the rain, and he had on a T-shirt with dress pants and nice dress shoes. Dean wasn't sure how old he was, he looked around early twenties. He would have guessed by the fancier dress the guy was of a richer family, but then, why would he possibly need money? Dean crouched behind a rack, glad he had been in the back when the guy walked in. He was relatively sure he hadn't been seen yet, though Adam was standing to the side of the Mrs. Tran, whimpering in fear. 

Dean's vision went red. Adam was in danger. He couldn't give a fuck if the guy was homeless and needed money to live. No one hurt his baby brother. Not one single person.

Before Dean could come up with a plan of action, Adam noticed him and cried out with a frantic scream. The two year old ran to him, jumping into his arms as he shivered with fright. Dean mentally cursed, but clung the young boy close to his black T-shirt. 

The man cursed and shifted, pointing the gun straight at Dean's heart. 

"SHUT UP!" screamed the man, his dark eyes glazed with desperation. "Shut up and move away from the racks!"

Dean held up his free hand not holding Adam and slowly started to get to his feet. The man cursed loudly and viciously, screaming obscenities as he waved the gun frantically. Dean could barely distinguish the words, but he understood the gist of what the fucker was trying to get across.

"Stay on your knees! God damn it don't move! I have a gun you little bitch, I'll shoot you and I'll shoot the female bitch, and I'll shoot both the God damned kids! ON YOUR KNEES!"

Dean growled with anger, his vision turning red. "Calm down, Jesus. I'm on my knees."

"Stay there!" the man made a chocking noise, his eyes bulging out of his head. "I know how to shoot! I know how to shoot this thing!"

"Richard," Mrs. Tran hadn't moved from behind the counter. "Richard, please. Put the gun down."

"Shut up!" snapped the man. He turned back to Adam and Dean, shaking the gun frantically, making Dean wince. "Get on your belly and crawl over here!"

"I can't-"

"SHUT UP!" 

Dean held up his hand again and slowly crawled as best he could, keeping Adam behind him as he moved as slowly and deliberately as possible. He couldn't let this guy get a shot off. If it ricocheted and hit Kevin, Adam, or Mrs. Tran, Dean would never forgive himself. Whoever this Richard dick head was, he was a dick head with a gun and that meant Dean would have to put a hold on his anger unless he wanted to end up with a bullet to the brain. Everyone needed come out of this situation alive. 

"Alright," Dean reached the counter and stood up next to Mrs. Tran, still being slow. "Alright, what do you want?"

"Give me the money!"

Mrs. Tran shot the man a cross look. "This is a small store. I don't have any money."

"I don't care!" snarled the man, his breath coming in harsh pants. "Give me what you have."

Mrs. Tran pursed her lips but reached for the cash register, even though Dean knew she couldn't have much more than a hundred dollars cash in there. The man's hand was quaking so bad, Dean imagined he probably would shoot one of them by accident instead of purposefully pulling the tigger.

Dean glanced up at the camera by the shop entrance. Clearly this guy hadn't thought out his robbery very well, considering everything was being caught on camera. The man started screaming at Mrs. Tran to hurry, and Dean felt another deep gut-wrenching twist of fear. He needed to get Adam to safety. He could never forgive himself if Adam was hurt because of this stupid decision to get pie. Fucking pie, for his fucking birthday. And Dad...

Dean swallowed hard, holding tight to Adam's shoulder, like if he held on hard enough, nothing could touch his brother. Mrs. Tran pulled free the small wad of cash and handed it to the man with a disgusted face. 

"Now get the hell out of my shop!" Mrs. Tran snapped. The man snatched the money and rifled through it. Dean wrinkled his nose. From this short distance, it was clear the guy had been drinking.

"This all?" Asked the guy incredulously. He slammed his fist on the counter, making Dean and Mrs. Tran jump. "What the fuck, you lying bitch! You have more than this! Don't you fucking lie to me, you have more than this!"

"If you're after cash, then don't rob a small store that barely feeds my family as is!" shouted back Mrs. Tran, her face beet red with anger.

The man paused for a second, mouth slack with surprise. Before Dean could react, the man's free fist slammed into the side of Mrs. Tran's face, sending her staggering backwards. Dean yelled and grabbed the scruff of Adam and Kevin's necks as he dropped all three of them behind the counter, narrowly avoided the round of bullets that flew into the wall behind them. 

Dean's ears rang from the discharge of the gun, far louder than any movie or TV show could convey. Mrs. Tran was on her back, hand clutching her arm where blood was pooling on the floor beneath her.

And then the world broke in two.

All of the rage, the fear, and the adrenaline pumped through his veins, granting Dean inhuman strength. He shoved the kids down as he launched over the counter, grabbing the gun and fighting for control. He kept the man from pulling the trigger, groaning in pain as an iron fists slammed into his side over and over until something in his sternum seemed to crack.

Screams were echoing outside now, people recognizing the sound of the gun shots. Already, Dean could hear faint sirens sounding as the Sheriff's department responded to the 911 calls probably flooding in.

Dean slammed his own fist into the man's chest- making him gasp for breath as he started to wrestle the gun away. In the background, he could hear Adam and Kevin shouting and crying, but nothing seemed important other than the man and the gun in front of him... until Adam was standing next to them, his face white with fear but a determined expression masking his features.

"Dean!" He screamed, eyes begging. "Dean!"

Dean hesitated. He was suddenly torn between hurting the man and saving his brother. His instincts screamed for him grab Adam and run. But he knew, logically, he needed to hurt Richard if nobody else was to get hurt. Mrs. Tran could already be dead. No one else was going to be injured.

Dean's hand slackened for fraction of a second. The man seemed incapacitated by his blow, having not moved an inch from his doubled over position.

He didn't know it was a trap.

A hand blotted out half his world as a fist struck his eye, blinding him and sending him reeling backwards from the sharp shock of pain. His hands released the gun, and Richard held the trigger with shaking fingers, pointing the barrel at a stunned Dean.

His heart froze...right up until the man sneered and pointed the gun straight at a shock-still Adam.

"NO!"

He could tell by the tense posture, the firm grip of his normally shaking hands, and the decided look on Richard's face as his finger pulled tight the cold, metal trigger that was meant to end his two year old brother's life.

The bullet whizzed through the air and Dean lurched forward, vibrant green eyes set colder than stone. It never reached Adam.  
______________________________________________________________________________

The clock struck four o'five in the afternoon as the dark storm clouds flashed with lightning, the roll of thunder masking the scream of the sirens as the ambulance loaded two hysterical boys and Mrs. Tran into the back of the white van. The criminal had been pushed inside a police car and driven away already, leaving only the officers dealing with the concerned mob and the Sheriff on sight. The Sheriff was inside the store, kneeling over the slim body lying in a dark pool of blood, arms stretched back as if to accept death. 

The Sheriff sighed and gently pulled a blanket over the teenager's face.

The boy couldn't have been more than sixteen. 

______________________________________________________________________________


	6. Bombshell Blonde

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> ...Jess was looking at him with amused, doe brown eyes as she beckoned him over with a wave. Sam's ears burned bright red, but he hurried over anyway, hoping she wouldn't notice his nervousness.
> 
> "Hiya Sam. What's the matter?" she asked teasingly as he took a seat from across from her, butterflies in his stomach. "You look nervous. Hot Date?"...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here you are!!!! This is pretty much the fluffiest chapter you will see in a while. Feel free to enjoy Sam's happiness while you can.

Chapter Six: Bombshell Blonde  
\- Owl City

Her love is a drug laced with ecstasy,  
and her charm is spiked with a spell  
A hot mess in a dress gets the best of me  
she's ice cold but she's making me melt   
That vixen, she's a master of disguise   
I see danger when I look in her eyes,  
she's so foxy, she could lead to my demise,  
So I'm running cause I've run out of time

 

Sam Wesson grimaced as cold water trickled down his neck. He tried to swat away the cause, earning a reproving glare from his mother, Mara Wesson, as she grimly attacked his hair with a wet comb. 

"You are not going on your first date with your hair looking like you just got out of bed," snapped Mara in frustration as she tried to get the hair to lie flat. "I told you to get that hair cut weeks ago! Why haven't you visited the barber shop yet?"

Sam shrugged his massive shoulders, rounded by balls of wiry muscle, his face clouded by an uncomfortable expression. "I haven't had the time."

"Oh, so you've had the time to play video games and set up dates but you don't have the time to make yourself presentable for the girl you're trying to impress?" Mara started fussing with his hair again, making Sam roll his eyes and return to his scramble eggs and hash-browns. He made a noise of irritation as Mara continued to attempt to tame his mane of hair, earning a disapproving look. Mara sighed and then slammed the comb onto the table. "Fine! Honestly, I feel like I'm caring for another daughter, not a son. I thought boys weren't suppose to have attitude, Samuel."

Sam grinned and caught her wrist, bringing her in for a peck on her cheek. "Sorry, Mom." He said in a serious and apologetic voice. Mara's face grew slightly flustered as she waved aside the apology and pick up his plate, seeming much happier than before. If only Sam's father, Jeremiah, had been around. He would have laughed at his son's tactics- calling him a "natural." Jeremiah had been the one to teach him that apologizing to a woman was the first thing you did if you ever received an anger vibe off of them. It seemed to work pretty well.

"If you want, I'll go get a cut right now and take my bike down to the library," Sam hollered after her as she strode toward the kitchen.

Mara placed the dishes in the washer as she bustled around the kitchen in her homely, house-wifey kind of way. She smiled distractedly at Sam as she started to heat up the water for the pots and pans.

"So long as you're not late. Do you need money?"

Sam grinned and swept his fingers trough his untidy hair, mussing it up even more. "Always."

Mara snorted. "Chip off the old block. Your father's wallet is on the counter. Take forty or so, that should cover your cut and maybe after the library date you can take Jess to the Mall and get some lunch."

"It's not a date!" Sam called after her as he shuffled day-old newspapers and magazines around on the counter in an attempt to find the wallet. 

"Sounds like one." Came a another, lighter voice. Sam turned to see his twin sister, Sarah, standing on the stairs, her dark hair curled around her shoulders expertly. He made a face at her before pulling out two twenties and shoving them in his back pocket. Sarah just laughed. 

"What's with the dress?" He asked her as she clipped over on ruby high heels, matching the vibrant red streaks in her hair and contrasting sharply with her stark black dress. Sarah tossed her hair and wrinkled her powered nose as she took in his own clothes.

"When I go out with my friends, I like to look like I didn't raid the clothes bin of a homeless shelter," snipped Sarah primly, earning a glare from Mara. Before their mother could chastise his sister, however, Sam snapped back a retort.

"So you go for the Barbie doll look instead?" He asked incredulously. Sarah blushed and opened her red lips to respond when Sam stopped her with a smirk. "Besides, plaid is the new black." He struck a pose, nose in the air, and winked suggestively. 

Sarah's laugh was still ringing in his ears as Sam pushed open the side door from the dinning room and strolled toward the car infested streets just brimming with road rage. It was a usual Kansas afternoon, with not a cloud in the sky and pleasantly warm sunshine beating down in cheerful waves. It was quite nice weather for January, though next week promised some cold winds. Sam walked around the front of the house and pulled free a somewhat tarnished brass key from his pocket as he opened the small shed and unlocked his most prized possession- a 695 SR Ultegra. It was the dream transportation of any self-respecting biker: fast, well styled, and much more comfortable than the previous bikes Sam had owned. He had won it in a lottery, which was a real stroke of luck considering that his family could never have afforded it otherwise. Sarah didn't understand, she much preferred her sunshine yellow convertible with a black, roll down top. She always complained that bikes were too slow, too uncomfortable, and too exposed. Sam begged to differ.

He pulled on his helmet hanging off the bar and rolled the bike forward before jumping on it and gliding smoothly down the driveway. While he preferred a mountain bike for his excursions in the wonderful outdoors, a racing bike was perfect for the level concrete sidewalks and asphalt lanes of the town streets. Besides which, the buildings where close together and bikes were 100% green. There was practically no use for a car here, unless you wanted to get out of town. 

Which, Sam reflected, as he turned and coasted up to the traditional red and white stripped pole signaling the entrance to the barber shop, is probably why Sarah likes her car better in the first place. She always did want to go travel around the US.

Sam locked his bike against one of the poles, clipped off his helmet, hung it on the bars, and strolled inside, welcoming the cool flush of air conditioning. The store owner, Benny, looked up as he entered, a small smirk on his features.

"I see you finally decided to forget the fro' brother," Benny greeted him as he walked to the cash register. Two other barbers were attending to clients, leaving Benny free to take care of Sam immediately. He was glad for that- it would have been beyond embarrassing if he showed up late for his first date.

"Mom insisted," Sam quipped back, shaking Benny's hand when proffered. "How are you man?"

"I'm good," Benny supplied before leaning in and whispering in a sly tone, "And Andrea's even better."

Sam made a face, causing Benny to laugh. He ruffled his bed-head hair with a sigh and pulled out the crumpled twenties. "TMI dude. Can you tell me how much to get a cut?"

Benny appraised his hair, a bewildered look coming over his features. "What in God's name did you do to your hair, brother?"

Sam smirked, "I think it's called sleeping, Benny."

Benny shook his head vigorously. "No, waking up with a knot or two is sleeping. That right there is getting in a pillow fight with Sarah and loosing. How is she, anyway?"

"Sarah is as pig-headed as ever," Sam replied with a sigh. "She still won't break up with that loser football player."

Benny shook his head. "I'll have to ask Andrea to beat some sense into that sister. 'specially if she ain't got enough sense to figure it out for herself." 

Sam made a noncommittal noise of agreement as Benny took his twenty and gave him a five in return before gesturing to the free chair toward the back of the shop. As he made his way over, Sam had to admit that Benny's idea might be a good one. Sarah always listened to Andrea. She was Sarah's godmother after all- though she was more like Sarah's older sister than anything else. But while Andrea never ignored Sam, she always listened to Benny's suggestions. They were the most sickeningly sweet couple in existence, and it was because of Sam and Sarah that Benny and Andrea had even met. Sam had needed a hair cut and his old bike had been busted, so he had hitched a ride with Sarah and Andrea who decided to wait for him before going out for hamburgers together. The second Benny and Andrea saw each other, it was like sparks flying.

One year later and they were in a "free marriage trial", though Sam knew that Benny was getting up the guts to propose any month now. He knew Andrea would say yes. It was obvious how much they loved each other by just the look in their eyes whenever the other walked into the same room. God smite him if his face ever took on such a dorky quality as Benny's when he saw Andrea.

"Maybe Sarah will listen to her," Sam spoke aloud as Benny reappeared with all his hair-cutting implements. "God knows she won't listen to me." 

"I hear you brother," Benny sighed. "Lenore's just as stubborn."

Sam looked at Benny in surprise. He knew Benny had a sister named Lenore, but she had hardly been mentioned despite the numerous times he and Benny had hung out together. He knew she had run off with someone else and that she and Benny hadn't spoke since, but anything else was quickly obscured by Benny's none to subtle change of conversation whenever she was brought up. It was the first time Benny had brought her up himself, and Sam was curious to know why.

"Have you spoken to her?" He asked interestedly. Benny smiled wide, a look of happiness crossing into his eyes.

"She showed up last night 'round three or so. Used the key I gave her ages ago to let herself in. Damn near scared me and Andrea to death this morning."

Sam felt his own smile as Benny began expertly clipping at his hair. "That's great Benny. How is she?"

"Fine I suppose. Didn't really talk much, but I plan to once I've got more time on my hands. Andrea's with her now. Female bonding, they called it. Damned if I want to know what the hell that means."

Sam laughed as the two of them, boy and barber, talked amiably for the few minutes it took to cut Sam's hair. When Sam finally left, he had promised Benny a chance to hang out later with the girls at Benny's apartment. He did mention Jess, to explain why he might be late, but Benny merely gave him a wink and a "congrats brother" before showing him out of the shop.

As he petaled down the street toward the library, Sam felt anxiety twisting in his gut. Without the pleasant distraction of Benny's company and chatter, he was finding himself becoming more and more worried over his meeting up with Jess. Was it okay their first quote un quote "date" was in a library or was that too geeky? For that matter, did Jess even think it was a date? He hadn't exactly asked like it was one, considering he has used the excuse of planing their Biology project together as a reason for them to met up. Jess probably saw through it, but should he ask her afterward if she wanted to grab some fries with him? Maybe even call it a date?

Sam had know Jessica for years, ever since they were in second grade and Sam had shown up as the "new kid." Jess was the first person to talk to him, all but shoving her confident hand in his face and chirping in her high pitched voice, "Hi! I'm Jess!" They had been friends ever since, though Sam himself had started feeling a little more than "friendship" over the past couple of years. But he wasn't sure if Jess felt that way, or even if she was already dating. He could probably discount the possibly, considering she never hung out with one guy in particular and that her parents were the most overprotective people on the face of the Earth. They had given him a major talking-to when he had first shown up with Jess for a play date. He had been eight at the time, and had no idea what they were talking about, although Jess had covered her face and wailed "MOM! DAD!" before running up the stairs.

Thinking about it now made him blush, though. 

Sam cruised to a stop in front of the old style brick library and carefully padlocked his bike to the bike stands out front. He couldn't help but glance through the library windows, looking for a familiar blonde head. Just when he was sure he was here first, he saw her hair- pinned around her head in a braid- apparently sitting in the way back of the library, in a more secluded corner. His heart-rate sped up from "nervous jog" to "full out sprint."

Sam ran his fingers through his newly cut hair, pushed down his T-shirt and idly rubbed at a grease spot on his jeans before pushing open the library doors. It was quiet inside, with old fashioned electrical lighting and large windows with shelves full of books. Inhaling deeply, Sam could smell the fresh and old ink, just as he could hear the gentle rustle like fallen leaves as pages were flipped back and forth, accompanied by the soft chorus of whispers and the gentle scratch of ball point pen on paper. 

As Sam walked, his mind frantically tried to remember if he brushed his teeth, if he had dirt under his nails, or if his shoes were tracking mud. He breathed in and breathed out deeply, thinking that now, while Jess couldn't see him, was the time to do any awkward sort of preparation things, like blowing his nose. Suddenly Sam panicked as he thought about his breath. He had brushed his teeth, but he had eaten afterward, and it probably smelled like half-digested egg and hash-browns. Sam cupped his hands over his mouth and exhaled, breathing in the scent and determining that it wasn't too bad. Maybe he could sneak a tic tac.

He heard a soft peal of laughter, and when he looked up he was mortified to see that it was Jess looking at him with amused, doe brown eyes as she beckoned him over with a wave. Sam's ears burned bright red, but he hurried over anyway, hoping she wouldn't notice his nervousness.

"Hiya Sam. What's the matter?" she asked teasingly as he took a seat from across from her, butterflies in his stomach. "You look nervous. Hot date?" She winked a long lashed eyelid.

Sam couldn't answer. He was frozen just looking at her. She was so much better dressed than he was, wearing a light blue, summer-y dress that accented her tan skin and showcased her long, lean and athletic legs. She was smirking at him with perfectly kissable pink lips, her up-do making her appear far more mature than a fifteen year old girl had a right to be. Sam's eyes were captivated by a small piece of hair curling around her face in the most seductive manner possible. 

In comparison, he felt like an ape- dressed in grease stained jeans, old black converses, a white T-shirt and green and blue plaid over shirt. Sam gawked at her for a second before struggling to recover his wits.

"Not me," he managed to get out. "though you look awful dressed up for a study session."

Was it his imagination or did a flash of disappointment shadow her face for a moment when he said study session and not date? Jess recovered her smile so quickly, Sam was sure it must have been his own hopeful mind. 

"Who says I don't have a hot date?" Jess asked playfully as she leaned back in her seat and looked him over with another smirk. Sam felt a sudden hot flash of jealously. Did Jess have a date? Was she going out now? Should he have asked her earlier, made it more clear on how he felt? Sam gulped back the mouse in his throat and managed to get out a semi-intelligent reply.

"I hope you didn't sneak out then."

Jess cocked a brow. "I might have," she added seriously. Sam laughed.

"Sure Jess." Then he took one look at her face. Surprise and amazement flashed in his gut as his mouth fell open, probably making him look like a retarded moose. "What?!?!"

She laughed, crossing her legs slightly self-consciously. "You know how my parents are, Sam. Impossible." 

Sam snapped his mouth shut, trying not to smile at how his name sounded so good coming from her lips. It sent tingles flushing down his face and neck. "Point taken. So, who is he?"

Jess smiled at him slyly. "I don't know yet," she replied bluntly. 

Sam almost chocked on air. "What?!?!"  
Jess laughed and slammed a notebook on the table before Sam could ask more. She tapped the cover and cocked an eyebrow. "So...Biology?"

Sam nodded distractedly, still thinking about Jess going on a blind date, without her parent's permission. He didn't know why it made his gut clench with rage. Well, actually he did. He really liked Jess. A lot. The mere thought of her spending time with another guy like that made him want to curl up in a ball and die. He would never say so to her face, after all, it was Jess's life, but the fact remained all the same. 

"Sam?"

He blinked and stared at her amused and slightly concerned brown eyes. "Yeah?"

"You gonna tell me what's crawling under your skin so bad that you can't focus?"

Sam felt a blush creeping over his cheeks. Jess had no idea how he felt. How could she? He had never given her the slightest hint that he felt the way he did. It wasn't just because he was afraid of rejection, but also because he really liked hanging out with Jess. To have that taken away from him would be beyond torturous.

"I, uh...." he blinked. He couldn't tell her. This wasn't how he wanted to tell her, all stammering and gross looking. "Nothing."

"Okay." Jess didn't exactly look convinced. He couldn't blame her. He wasn't convinced either. "Then let's try and get this done."

"Right." He blushed as he scooted closer to her and tried to ignore the fact that they were alone, without adult supervision, crammed together in a secluded nook. Somehow though, those facts didn't want to leave his mind, especially whenever Jess laughed, their hands and knees brushed together, leaving a lingering tingle over his skin, or when he caught scent of her kiwi and cucumber scented soap. It was utterly maddening, to be brushing up against her and not being able to push the stray thoughts entirely out of his mind. He wanted to, The Lord knew he wanted to, but Jess being right next to him was not helping in the least. 

He wasn't sure how much time had passed, but when he finally leaned back in his chair, shoulder blades sore from sitting so long, he was pleased by the outline they had set up together. They should be able to do the experiment soon. Which meant another study date with Jess. Which also meant the torture of not being able to act on his feelings and his happiness at being in the same room as her. Sam wondered if this was what Benny and Andrea felt like when they were together- as if electric sparks were playing under his skin and butterflies were fluttering in his stomach.

Jess touched his arm and Sam shivered involuntarily at the heat that blushed up to his shoulder. She smiled at him with that cute tweak of the corner of her plush mouth, drawing Sam's gaze toward her pink lips. "You want to talk about that hot date now?" 

Not particularly. "What hot date?" Sam asked with a laugh. "Do I look fancied up to you?"

Jess grinned. "I kinda like the outdoor look myself."

Sam felt his heart skip a beat. Was she insinuating what Sam was so sure she was insinuating? Was she hinting he was... handsome? Or was he being a wishful thinker again?

"You look... different in a dress." Sam replied without thinking. Jess huffed.

"Thanks Sam," she muttered sarcastically. His ears turned pink.

"No!" he grasped her hand as if she might leave. "No, that's not what I..." He trailed off, words failing him. Jess was looking at his hand over hers, her cheeks turning slightly pink. He stammered something incomprehensible as he quickly tried to draw away, only to find his hand held in place. 

"You meant--?" Jess asked with a slightly teasing tone, her warm breath washing over his face. She was so close now, all it would take was leaning in the tiniest bit...

But he didn't know. He couldn't. Sam pulled his hand away, pulling back with every muscle tense and brittle. It was so hard to pull those few inches away from Jess, as if something was pushing him towards her, shoving against his reluctant spine.

"Sam?"

He had to met her eyes. "You look beautiful." He looked at her smiling face, trying to convey all his honesty in that statement. Jess's lips parted in surprise and he saw something like amusement, joy, and smugness cross her face in rapid succession. And then she leaned forward, eyes closed, her movements hesitant, reaching only inches from him. Sam understood. She was giving him a choice. For a second he was frozen, unable to move. Jess looked down, a blush creeping over her face and started to draw away. That wasn't right. He needed to tell her. He needed to stop being such a coward. Sam felt all his fear and hesitation drain away, followed by impulsive recklessness.

He crossed the short distance before she could draw back completely and cradled her lips in a soft, quick kiss. It was chaste, more of a peck than anything else. The contact was as soft as possible before Sam and Jess drew away, both blushing beet red. His lips tingled around the corners, and his toes curled with pleasure. 

He could tell by looking at her face, Jess was feeling the exact same way.

"That was my first," Jess said suddenly, blushing even fiercer as she pulled her blonde curl behind her ear impatiently. Sam was sure it was the cutest gesture he had ever seen. Then he registered what she had said. 

"Mine too," he admitted, making a smile break out on her face.


	7. Looking For Angels

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sam's enjoying his first date until something goes really wrong

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I've stopped being lazy and avoiding doing a chapter summery. Sue me. Anyway, we all know the end of this chapter will be sad, so if you wanna skip, feel free. If you're like me and you torture yourself with reading terribly sad scenes over and over, then this fic is right down your ally!  
> Not beta'd so you're bound to notice some weird phrasing or something.  
> Warnings for mild language.  
> Enjoy!

Chapter Seven: Looking for Angels  
-Skillet

Just a touch, a smile as you turn the other cheek  
Pray for your enemies, humble yourself, love's staring back at me  
In the midst of the most painful faces  
Angels show up in the strangest of places

They didn't do much more than talk for half an hour. They kissed a couple times more, nothing more than almost involuntary brushes, still clinging to their slightly swollen lips like an electric current. Jess admitted to have snuck out of her house, leaving a note telling her parents she would be back at four twenty because she was going out with friends. Hopefully they wouldn't freak out too much. She hadn't gotten a call on her cell yet, demanding answers as to where she was, so that was a good sign.

"So..." Jess fingered a page of her notebook. "What do you want to do for the next fifteen minutes or so?"

Sam shrugged. "Fries?"

Jess winced. "No money on me."

"I've got some." Sam replied, surprised she would think she had to buy her own. Hadn't they rather unofficially declared this a date? Of course he would buy for her. 

"You don't need--" Sam leaned in and shut her up with a kiss.

"I don't need to," he agreed with a content hum. "But I will anyway. Come on, let's bust this joint."

Jess laughed, earning disapproving looks from the people around them. The librarian, Mrs. Town, was glaring at them with an evil eye, probably furious that they dared to kiss in her library. 

"Right," Jess readily agreed as she gathered her stuff. "Before Mrs. Town throws us out by the scruffs of our necks."

Sam chortled as they made their way outside, trying his hardest not to stare at Jess's sexy legs and failing miserably. As he opened the library door, he was greeted by a puff of cool air he didn't expect. Sam glanced up, seeing the sky had large black clouds gathered to the horizon and moving in. He blinked. Nothing like that had been there an hour ago. How strange.

"That cloud is huge," Jess commented as she looked hesitantly at Sam. "Do you think it's going to rain?"

"Weather report didn't say so...." Sam trailed off and then shrugged. "Not that it matters."

"Not that it matters?" Jess laughed and slapped his arm playfully. "I'm in a dress moron. And it's freezing out here!"

Sam felt instantly bad. He didn't have a coat on him, else he would offer it to Jess. Then he remembered his plaid over shirt. Sam pulled of the blue flannel, unrolling the sleeves to make them longer and shrugged the shirt over Jess's shaking arms. He couldn't resist a slight smirk as she pulled her arms through the shirt sleeves. She looked drowned in the fabric, the edge of the shirt nearly the same length as her skirt. The sleeves reached halfway up her palms, and the shoulders hung loosely off her slim frame. Sam grinned. 

"You look sexy in plaid."

Jess laughed and pulled the shirt over her self-consciously. "Right. I look like I'm drowning in flannel."

Sam laughed as he unchained his bike, looking over the well cared for vehicle carefully to check for any new dings or scratches. He pulled his helmet off the handlebar and sat down comfortably on the padded cushion, grinning at Jess. "Coming?"

She almost blanched. "Are you kidding?" Sam just laughed. Jess stuck out her tongue and glanced untrustingly at the bike. "Where would I sit?"

Sam patted the handlebars, suddenly feeling nervous. Maybe it was too much to expect Jess to sit on the handlebars, but he couldn't make her walk while he biked and he couldn't leave his precious bike to be stolen. He silently begged her with large eyes. Jess huffed but consented, seating herself gracefully, albeit nervously, on the bars. Sam leaned up behind her and strapped the helmet under her chin, making her glanced back at him in surprise.

"So you don't get hurt," He explained with a smile, making her roll her eyes. Jess clearly thought she could care for herself. 

At least she didn't verbally protest. He would go ahead and chalk that up as a win. 

Jess leaned into his shoulder as he started them forward, grunting at the strain on his legs to get their heavier mass moving. The bike responded slowly at first, but gathering speed until they were all but flying down the streets together, Jess's half-delighted, half-terrified cries in his ears. 

The cool, moist air hit them in the face as they speed down the streets, laughing as tears watered their wide eyes. Sam finally slammed on the breaks as they reached the nearest diner, making Jess yell in surprise, her hands fluttering over his as she gripped the handlebars to keep from falling off. 

Sam tried to ignored the tingle in the pitt of his stomach as he slipped off the bike and helped Jess down. He caught her as she stumbled on weak knees, her hair coming partly out of her braid and curling around her red neck and face breathless with laughter. Some of the soft, amber strand clung to his flannel shirt, her doe brown eyes sparkling with fun. 

She looked utterly and completely beautiful.

Sam leaned in and stole another kiss, making this one last longer than the quick brushes they had tried before. Jess was leaning into him, her arms wrapping around his shoulders, her face tilted up as she raised herself on tip toes to match his height, the bike helmet knocking into his head slightly. His arms wrapped around her slim waist and Sam felt electric sparks clinging in his chest and running in sparking currents under his skin. 

When they finally pulled away, Sam was grinning embarrassedly and Jess was staring at him with wide eyes, her lips perking in a lusty smile. She sighed and drew in a deep breath.

"Smells like rain and fries," she commented dryly. Sam chuckled, feeling her own laugh against him, neither having let go of the other yet.

"Soggy fries," he added. "Yum."

"My favorite." Jess grinned at him and they finally let go, both blushing slightly. Sam pulled the padlock from his pants pocket and wrapped up the bike before escorting Jess into the small diner. They sat down, a faintly uncomfortable silence between them before a smiling waitress came up and asked them what they wanted. Once she left, Sam suddenly realized they had neglected to take the helmet off. He laughed and reached for the clip, confusion showing on Jess's face for a second before she understood.

"Oh," she laughed as Sam reached over the small table in their both and unclipped, his fingers sending trails of sparks down his hands and arms as he brushed against her chin. He pulled off the helmet, effectively deteriorating the remnants of her hairstyle.

Jess made a noise of irritation as she pulled clips from her hair and shook her head, scattering her wavy, thick mane over her shoulders. She finger combed through it as best she could, pulling pins from her hair impatiently, sometimes tearing out a few yellow strands.

Sam grinned. "Now I know why you never put it up."

Jess laughed. "It's a curse," she agreed, shaking her head again and massaging her scalp as the waitress brought over their food.

They shared the basket of fries happily for ten, glorious minutes, laughing and giggling in the drunk happiness of most first-time couples. They had been dancing around each other for years. Now that they finally made it "official", it was like they had finally addressed the huge elephant in the room neither had noticed before. 

Jess picked the last fry and popped it in her mouth, making Sam moan a complaint. He didn't often eat fast food, preferring more wholesome foods, but now that the greasy flavor was stuck on his tongue, he wanted to eat more.

Instead he settled on leaning forward and dragging a kiss over her lips after she had chewed and swallowed , tasting the hot greasy fry on her pink, slightly chapped lips. 

"Mmm," Sam breathed in her scent and made Jess laugh as she turned her head slightly to the side, his lips meeting the upturned corner of her mouth.

A sudden boom broke over the air like a gunshot, making both jump back in surprise, as if they had been caught doing something wrong. Sam and Jess both turned their faces to look out the small diner window, both yelping as a flash of lightning blinded them. Jess blinked rapidly and turned back to Sam, who could see her pupils had dilated from the lightning. The soft pitter-patter of falling rain reached their ears, and Sam mentally cursed. 

"Aw shit," He moaned, looking out at the storm. "I'm going to need to get home before this rain really picks up."

"Ditto," sighed Jess. Sam looked down at the table. Neither had moved. They had been having such an awesome time together, sitting, laughing and talking. It wasn't fair the damned storm picked this very day- Sam's first ever date- to become a nuisance they both couldn't ignore. Finally Sam sighed and threw down a ten. Just because the storm had screwed with his plans didn't mean he couldn't be generous to the waitress.

As Sam reached over and heaved Jess's book up on the table for her, Jess's cell phone lit up with the single, white blocky word spelling out the dreaded: Mom 

"Son of a bitch," Jess groaned and hesitated before pressing send. She lifted the cell to her ear, took a deep breath and then spoke in a jaunty voice, "Hi mom!"

Sam couldn't actually hear the voice from the phone, but he could tell by Jess's expression that her parent was less than pleased. He winced in sympathy for her. His parents were really chill. They didn't mind if he stayed out late, so long as he was in bed by ten on school nights and by three on weekend nights. They also made it clear that if Sam did stay out that late on weekend nights, which he had occasionally, he would still be waking up as early as five o' clock to do his usual chores. Sam had learned to either do the chores beforehand or come home early after that.

The only time he had ever seen his parents as mad as Jess's was when he got pulled into doing some dangerous things with another girl he had known: Ruby. He could remember his father's face that night, dancing with shadows from the police sirens, and more terrifying to him than anything else in the world. 

Jess's sigh of frustration brought Sam back to real life. He looked at her books carefully, doing his best to tune out her side of the conversation and doing a horrible job at it.

"Mom, I left a note." Jess paused, frowning. "Yeah it's around three fifty five isn't it? Look, I'm coming home okay? Yes right now." Jess rolled her eyes, eliciting a burst of static from the phone sounding suspiciously like, don't you roll your eyes at me!  
"How would you know, this isn't face time," she snapped back to the unknown words. "No, I'm not walking home in the rain so I'm not gong to get freaking pneumonia. Yes, I'm coming back with a guy." Jess cringed, holding the phone away from her ear. From where he stood, Sam could hear screaming and static coming from Jess's phone. "I'm not getting into a stranger's car!" Jess finally snapped. "Okay, give me some God damn credit! I'm going on Sam's bike, with Sam, and I'm going home right now. So, if you'll shut up, I'll be there faster. Don't call me again!"

Jess slammed the phone shut and inhaled sharply. Her brown eyes danced dangerously, her hair frizzled and standing on end. She look like an Amazon, fierce, angry, and beautiful. Sam didn't even think- just leaned forward and kissed her. He marveled that of all the guys she could have, Jess liked him best. Him. The weirdo new kid she had said hi to in second grade. Him. Sam Wesson. He felt her relax against him and pulled away, making Jess sigh with disappointment. He grinned good-naturedly. 

"Wouldn't want to make mama bear even more pissed off," he explained quietly. He looped his arm around hers and shrugged her bag over his shoulder. "Come on Goldilocks, we've got to get you home."

Jess snorted. "If you start calling me that, I'm going to start calling you Sasquatch."

Sam pouted at her. "No fair, I just cut my hair!"

They existed the store as Jess's laugh was cut short by a muffled yelp from the cold blast of air on their skin. Sam shivered and as he unlocked his bike, his numb fingers making it far harder than it should have been. More lightning flashed inside the storm, cold and blue. Sam gripped Jess's arm and sat her down on the handlebars, not even trying to ignore the way her silky dress rode up her leg as she sat. He leaned down and clipped her helmet in place, careful not to clip any of her hair waving in the soft puffing wind. Jess gripped the handlebars tight as Sam took his seat behind her and they rode out into the rain and the wet streets, both shivering with anticipation of the cold rain.

Jess moaned slightly from the cold, shivering badly despite the plaid over shirt Sam had given her. As for himself, Sam could hardly muster the energy to keep his legs going. The cold wrapped around him in an icy blanket, offering him the chance to stop riding and just sit there and curl up in the freezing rain. He made no effort to stop the rain from soaking his skin and hair. He blinked away the moisture from his eyes, pelting faster now in an effort to get Jess home before she really did get sick.

Lightning flared in the sky and Jess's waterproofed case light up as her mom called her again, illuminating the time. Sam wasn't sure why it caught his eye, but somehow it did. It was 3: 59. 

Suddenly, Jess screamed his name through the icy wind and freezing rain, her voice raw with emotion and fear. Sam look up, seeing a car speeding towards them as it drifted halfway between the biking and the driving lanes. It was so close now, he didn't have time to turn the bike. Maybe if he wasn't so numb he could have done it, but now he almost felt like ice on his arms cracked when he went to move them.

His brain jumped, suddenly focused on blonde haired girl before him with frightening intensity. Jess. He had to save Jess.

Sam's arms pushed the girl to the side, and Jess's soft body made no effort to counter his actions. She fell sideways, rolling slightly as her left arm and leg cleared the rightmost tire of the car by a finger's breadth. Sam had only the time to stare at Jess in relief, knowing what was about to happen and suddenly accepting of the fact he could do nothing about it. In his mind he felt the peace of giving up. He gave up his worries about Ruby, of his parents, Sarah, and finally he gave up his concern for Jess. He had kept her safe, and that was what mattered.

Then he felt excruciating, sharp pain fill his mind before the world went dark.

_________________________________________________________________________________

Jess sobbed, her phone still lit up with her parent's number, her tears unnoticed in the rain while her screams were masked by a roar of thunder. Lighting split the sky as her phone flickered and died- neither she nor Sam having noticed one small detail.

The second the car killed Sam Wesson, the clock hit four.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Comments? Questions? This will make sense sometime, I promise. :D  
> LAST PROLOGUE. THANK JESUS.


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sam Wesson, Castiel Novak, and Dean Winchester live in separate towns, go to different schools, and have never met once in their lives. But when they wake up to find themselves in the deserted ruins of a barn, wondering how the hell they had gotten there and how they could possibly escape, that animosity with each other is about to change. As they learn what happened during the last few seconds of their lives, they are forced to face the facts:  
> They will be hunted.  
> They can never go back.  
> They're only hope of survival is to trust a monster.  
> Where can they find the faith to trust each other, when they can't even trust themselves?   
> How can they pull a drowning world from the sea if they all went under long ago?  
> If they're supposed to save the world, who will save them?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So this was edited by myself, like, once. Sorry, I'll do more later. I just really don't feel like doing so now. Anyway, here you are, the first chapter!!! YYYAYYYY! I can't tell you how happy I am to be done with those freaking prologues. Anyhow, read, comment, laugh at my grammar mistakes, and enjoy!   
> Characters courtesy of Supernatural  
> Warnings to mild language and some abusive flashbacks...kinda

Castiel felt like he was falling. Everything was flashing around him in waves of sounds and blurs of light. The sun and the stars mixed together as clouds ripped through his skin like razors. A burning pain started in the back and his sternum, growing until he was writhing and screaming in agony, his back and sternum feeling like small fires were blooming beneath the skin.

And then everything went soft around him, and he felt like he was still once more. The burning pain was still there, beneath him, but there was a warm sensation gathering in his chest and flowing down his arms, torso, and legs until it brushed the tips of his toes. His ears blushed from the feeling, like warm water was being poured over his aching limbs, still bruised and weary.

Suddenly he realized that warm feeling was his heart beat.

Cas became slowly aware of the world around him. He was lying on something cool- probably wood- while dampness was scented by his nose and felt on his clammy arms. His jacket and shirt were both torn beyond salvation, though the rest of his clothing remained relatively fine. His hair was still damp from the rain, and his neck, back, chest, and knee all thrummed in considerable pain. He was so exhausted he could hardly get the motivation to open his eyelids.

He did open them- though slowly- as his vision cleared he blinked in surprise. He could see everything perfectly. Cas didn't have bad vision, per say, but he still found far away objects blurrier than they should be. Now, though, everything was crystal clear, as if he had finally gotten those contacts his school nurse kept complaining he needed.

Cas blinked and sat up slowly, hissing at the pain in his back and chest that made even that simple motion feel like a fight. For some reason, his back felt far heavier than it should. Cas dragged his shoulders forward, feeling a tip in the weight that made it easier to sit all the way up. He groaned and took in his surroundings carefully.

He was inside an abandoned building of some sort. Light poured in from the sky and drenched the old wood in sunshine. It seeped through the cracks of the building and through the corroded roof with giant holes gaping up at the pale blue heavens. Moss and rust were clear around the edges of the holes and grew in the cracks of the building and floor. It appeared deserted, just a corroded shell of a building.

He glanced around and saw two other boys more or less the same age as he, wearing similar jeans and ripped up T-shirts and jackets. One was taller, with darker brown hair and tanner skin while the other was around Castiel's height with light brown hair and fair skin, combined with a soft flatter of freckles along the bridge of his nose. Both of them appeared asleep, their chests rising and falling in peaceful slumber, their faces devoid of emotion. Cas stared at them, unable to recall if he knew them or not. He did not think so, else he would have remembered them. He had a photographic memory, after all. It was yet another fact Anna would never stop parading around...

Anna.

Cas jerked to his feet, his eyes wide as memories flooded through brain. His father, Anna, school, the library, Ellen, packing up their bags, being caught, the court papers, and finally the pain across his neck. 

What. The. Hell. 

He spun around, running for the large barn-like doors in the wall. Cas reached them and started tugging at them fruitlessly. Further inspection had him come to realization the doors were rusted shut. There was no earthy way he was getting those suckers open. Cas stumbled back, mind reeling. What had happened? How had he been shoved inside this abandoned building without any available entrance? Why had his father done this to him, and if he had not, then who had? He glanced over at the two boys, now twitching and stirring from their sleep. he tried to pull himself together. Maybe they knew more than he.

"Hello?" he asked cautiously, glancing back at the door as if expecting them to be wrenched open. "Hey, can you hear me?"

The lighter haired boy opened his eyes first, blinking around before slowly crawling to his feet with a groan that made the other boy's eyes open.

"What the fuck?" The light haired boy looked around him in utter confusion. "I mean it, what the fuck?"

"Where--?" muttered the second boy, still on his knees as he gripped his head in his hands. "What--?"

"Abandoned building," suggested Castiel with a shrug. "Probably in Kansas, though it's hard to say for sure."

"And you are...?" asked the light haired boy with a suspicious frown.

"Castiel Novak. I just woke up a minute ago."

"Why do we all look like we got mauled by tigers?" asked the dark haired boy as he finally got to his feet. He was at least a half-a-head taller than the other two. 

"I don't know," Cas replied honestly. "Like I said, I just woke up here. I was hoping you might have more answers than me."

"Sorry, no." the light haired boy replied without a hint of apology in his voice. "But seriously? This isn't even...." He looked down at his chest suddenly, his hand twisting around his heart and he whispered. "Oh my God."

"What?" Cas asked in harmony with the dark haired boy.

"I..." the boy looked up with frightened eyes. "This isn't possible. This is literally not possible."

Cas had to agree with the boy. While his father might have been content to beat the shit out of him and drop him off at an abandoned place in the middle of nowhere, why would he attack two other boys and drop them here for no reason? How could it even be his father? And then again... Cas thought back to the pain that was his last memory. His leg had been broken, his back covered in bruises, his ribs cracked or broken an he didn't even want to think about what had happened to his neck. And yet, here he was, fine expect for a soreness in all the areas he should be screaming in agony for. He knew he wasn't hyped up on drugs, his brain felt clear as a bell. He couldn't have been asleep long enough for all those broken bones to heal, and even if he theoretically was, they would heal all screwy if he didn't get them cast at a hospital. And there was no way a hospital would leave him in an abandoned building either.

He was alive, stuck in a building literally rusted shut, with body parts that should have been broken, in the company of two people he had never met before in his life. 

"Wasn't it storming?" asked the dark haired boy in the tense silence. Cas blinked. That was right. It had been a sudden storm, popping up in the middle of nowhere. He had been wet. He patted his jeans. Dry.

"Not exactly unusual for January weather," the light haired boy spoke up. "But since we had that heat wave, it was weird to get that sudden storm..."

Weird. Yeah, their lives all seemed pretty weird right about now. Cas took a deep breath to calm himself. Everything was fucking weird. 

"Do any of you have a phone?" He asked. They both stared at him in confusion. He glared back. "So we know what time it is? Maybe get some help?"

"Shit," cursed the tall boy. He grabbed a small, cheap flip phone from his pocket. He opened it eagerly and them sighed. "No bars."

"Fuck," cursed the light haired boy, and Cas silently agreed. 

"But...." the tall boy's voice trailed off. "But this is impossible. I mean, literally, impossible." Castiel's stomach dropped to his feet. The boy glared at his phone, face white. "This thing has to be broken."

"What?" the other boy snatched the cell phone from numb hands and then cursed, suddenly and viciously. 

"No fucking way. You're shitting me. Please, someone tell me your shitting me." Cas blinked at the string of curses before extending his hand for the phone. Both of the boys seemed stunned by whatever it was on the phone screen, and he needed to know what it was. He begged silently with large eyes, finally being rewarded by the sting of cold metal on his palm. Cas didn't bother to smile his thanks but instead peered at the screen, his mouth tight with nervousness. It didn't matter how impossible the information on the phone was, it would still be nothing compared to the fact he should be in a hospital right now, unable to move.

He read the date in tiny block letter, and then the time. It was enough.

January 24, 2013. Underneath that: 4:00.

Four o'clock. January twenty-fourth. The exact same date and time as when he had been confronted by his father. 

Not one single fucking minute had passed.

______________________________________________________________________________

 

"So..." Cas broke the silence. The three of them had been sitting in silence since they had found out the date and time. He didn't know what the other boys were thinking, but he could imagine it was probably along the same lines of himself. What had happened at four o'clock in the afternoon to inexplicably transfer him from being beaten to death in his apartment to being stuck in an abandoned building? 

"You know my name. What's yours?"

The other two boys eyed him warily. Finally the taller one replied, "Sam Wesson," and the shorter replied, "Dean Winchester."

Cas nodded. He couldn't think on what to reply to that. They were all completely different people. Dean looked like your average star football player, Sam looked like your average intelligent AP student, and Cas looked like... well himself. So what had prompted them to be pushed together like this? What was the common factor?

"Do you live in Kansas?" Cas asked generically. Dean frowned while Sam rotated his shoulder uncomfortably. 

"Why?" asked Dean suspiciously. Cas felt like sighing. He could understand them not being friends considering they hardly knew each other, but really? Wasn't it obvious he was just trying to comprehend what had happened?

"Because I want to stalk you and kill your family," Cas replied sarcastically. "'cause you know. Why not?" He rolled his eyes. "I'm asking because I want to know why whoever did this grabbed you, you, and me. Why? What's the common link?"

Dean glared at him from across the room. "First off, fuck you-"

"Play nice." interrupted Sam. He glared at both Dean and Cas. "You do realize we're going to need to work together if we're going to get out of this alive?" Neither replied. Sam sighed and buried his head in his hands. "I'm from Kansas. Anyone else?"

"Kansas." Cas and Dean replied together. They both shared a surprised look before turning away. Cas nudged some moss with his toe. 

"So we're all from Kansas. That's something. What's the last thing you remember?" Sam took over the interrogation. Cas sighed and tried to piece together his memories. The last thing he truly remembered was his father. But there was another memory afterwards, like a missing piece of himself he should have. The more he thought of it, the larger his headache became until it was like a constant thrum on the edge of his mind.

"I was a store. With my brother." replied Dean. Cas glanced at him, thinking about the first odd thing he had done, gripping his hand to his chest and saying, "Oh my God. This isn't possible. This is literally not possible."

Castiel couldn't understand how visiting a grocery and getting kidnapped was't possible. It was the time difference that wasn't possible. He was pretty sure none of them lived in the same town, and he was damn sure none of them went to the same high-school. He lived in a small town where everyone knew everyone. Dean and Sam were not part of his community, and the nearest town was forty-five minutes away. Getting kidnapped was completely possible. Getting kidnapped from different towns at the same time and dragged to God-knows-where in less than a minute was what was impossible. However, Dean hadn't know about the time then. He had to be hiding something. What had happened at the store?

"I was riding my bike with my girlfriend," Sam mused thoughtfully, though Cas caught a quiver in his voice that didn't quite belong. 

And I was at home, getting the shit beat out of me by my father. Castiel thought sarcastically. Like he was going to say that in front of two strangers. Both Sam and Dean stared at him expectantly. Cas shifted on the wood floor, making the boards squeal. "I uh...." He thought back to the blinding pain. "At my apartment."

"Great," hissed Dean, leaning back and stretching his muscular frame. His black T-shirt rode up on his stomach enough for Cas to see his well-defined abs. Clearly Dean was the kind of guy who cared about how he looked. "So we were all kidnapped doing normal things. We're all what? Sophomores?" Cas and Sam nodded, though Dean rolled on as if he couldn't care less. "And we all live in Kansas. Whoopee-fucking-"

The barn doors buckled and groaned as something enormous smashed into the iron framing. Cas jumped as the doors were hit again, bending in with the scream of rusted metal. Sunlight peeped through the cracks as a large dent appeared in the middle of the two doors, at least four feet in diameter. His skin crawled with anticipation. Sam glanced at him with wide eyes, looking quite terrified. Dean's face was set but white. Cas couldn't blame either of them. What was strong enough to beat down two metal doors, fast enough to kidnap them in under a minute, and clearly determined enough to do both would not be deterred by whatever strength the three boys could conjure. Clearly, they were shit out of luck.

The doors squealed more protests as the three of them backed up to the opposite wall, throats constricted with fear. Cas's mind kept replaying a verse from one of Ellen's old-time songs: If it wasn't for bad luck, I wouldn't have any luck at all. Story of his life.

The doors reverberated in their hinges, twisting like clay instead of hard-ass iron. Rust fell away in flurries of red and orange flakes, making the doors look like they had a bad case of dandruff. The three boys clumped together despite their previous caution, all sure of their coming demise. As the sound of groaning iron came to a stop, silence flooded the room. There was no sound except for that of harsh breathing as their hearts stopped-- waiting. 

The doors flew backward, crumpling and folding like tin cans. Sunlight poured unrestrained into the room, effectively blinding them. By the time Cas had adjusted to the glow of warm light, a figure blocked part of the huge doorway in the form of a short, curvy woman with a mischievous smile and curly brown hair.

"Well I'll tell you one thing," she droned from pink, perky lips. "You boys ain't in Kansas anymore."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I finally made up a summery! Aren't you all so proud of me?  
> SUPERNATURAL SEASON 9 PREMIERE 9 O'CLOCK TOMORROW  
> HOUSE OF HADES COMES OUT TOMORROW  
> *laughs insanely before falling over dead*


	9. Chapter 9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Something big and bad breaks down the doors, bringing with her nothing but trouble.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As you can probably see, summaries are not my forte. Just thank my friend who reads over my chapters that you get a summary as long as the 14 words you did, considering I was informed "Shit goes down," was not an appropriate summary.   
> Warning for mild language. (including this note)  
> And I promise I will soon get off my lazy ass and start making a time chart. For now I'm thinking Thursdays, Tuesdays, and Saturdays...though only one or two a week. I don't know. Later. Let me be lazy right now.

"You have got to be fucking kidding me." Dean looked at this short, unimposing woman who had just Hulk smashed two rusted barn doors open. And then cracked a fucking Wizard of Oz joke. 

"Sorry, I'm not. Mo, Curly and Larry crossed the Colorado border three miles back."

"We're in Colorado?" Asked the Sasquatch, Sam, as if that were the most impossible fact they had encountered so far. You know, getting shot, saved, and kidnapped were next to nothing when it came to fact they were in Colorado. 

"Obviously." the woman smirked at them. Dean felt a flush rising on his cheeks. He didn't know what it was, but something about her made him want to punch someone in the face. More specifically, someone with long brown hair and enough curves to make a pear feel like a pole.

"What the hell are you?" He demanded. Sure, maybe it was short and brusque, but it was also to the point. Dean wasn't the kind of guy to beat around the bush. He wanted to know what the hell had happened to him. He had been fucking shot for Christ's sake. And Adam...

A well of emotion rose up and threatened to unbalance him. He had to know if he had saved Adam.

 

"You must be Dean Winchester," the woman mused as she walked forward confidently. "Obviously a Defender. They're always the most aggravating of the three."

Dean blinked, feeling some of his anger drain away to be replaced by sheer confusion. Defender? One of three? What the hell was she talking about?

"What?" asked the black haired kid, Castiel, or some weird name like that. His eyes were big and blue, like the lightning from the storm, almost frightening in their intensity. Dean felt like he was being picked apart by those eyes whenever they look at him. Right now though, his thin lips were pulled back in a frown, his expression disturbed and his intense gaze seemed preoccupied. But really. Who could blame him? "What is happening? Why are we here? Who are you?" Cas glared at her now, his face darkening with anger. "Why are you here? What do you want and how did this happen?"

The woman laughed, as if she found Castiel's quick triad of questions amusing instead of a little scary. She cocked a brow at him and smirked that smile that made Dean feel like peeling her face off. "That's a lot of questions there Clarence. Got anymore?"

Cas stared at her blankly. "My name isn't Clarence."

The woman threw back her head and laughed. "Genius." She observed with a chuckle. She was only ten or so feet away now, close enough for Dean to clearly see every detail. To his surprise, however, the details remained just as sharp to his eye from ten feet as it was thirty feet. He wondered if he had gotten bitten by any radioactive spiders recently. That would explain a lot.

"Name's Meg. As for you all...." she trailed off with a quick grin. "That is quite the story. Short or long version?"

"Fastest," Dean snapped back. Meg rolled her eyes.

"Short means fast in this case, retard. Anyone else got a preference?"

"Could you shut up and tell us already?" asked Sam with a frustrated air as he rain his finger through dark hair. Dean had to resist the urge to grin. He was starting to like the Sasquatch, despite the fact Sam looked like the biggest geek who had ever lived. 

"Hold your horses there, Curly," teased Meg slyly. "Wouldn't want to muss the hairstyle." Sam scowled, making Meg laugh. "Alright then," she smiled at them disarmingly. "You're all died."

Silence. Complete and utter silence. Dean felt his heart stop, his mind go black, as his muscles replayed out the final moments he could remember before blacking out. The pain that erupted in his chest compared to the soreness there now. The roar of the gun, louder than any movie or show. The smell of burning flesh and coppery blood... 

He was dead?

No. He wasn't fucking dead. He was living and breathing, right here, right now. Meg was clearly insane, and screw whatever his internal bullshit meter kept screaming out that he was in self-denial. He was alive. He wasn't dead, and had never been dead. Hell, maybe he was high, and this was all just one weird ass dream. Maybe he would wake up and find out he hadn't been to school yet.

"That is a lie." Castiel spoke up from next to him, his eyes fiercely shinning in the sunlight. Dean eyed his tussled hair and shriveled appearance in wonder, amazed at how the guy managed to make a mauled shirt, dirty pants, crappy, muddy shoes and bed-head look fierce and even angelic. If he imagined it enough, he could almost picture the shimmery wings rising up in a defensive position, as if stretching out to guard them from harm.

"Really?" Meg stepped closer and Dean felt his heart turn to ice. Her eyes had shifted somehow, the iris and whites having been swallowed by her pupils so her entire eye was solid black. "'Cause your frail little meat suit couldn't have saved you from that last blow. You were dead, Cassie. Just sweet little Anna with daddy dearest now."

Cas's mouth opened and closed without sound, his face having gone stark white. Meg rounded on Sam, her teeth bared in a vicious white-toothed smile. "You too, lamb chops. Dead on the first date. Talk about bummers." 

Dean had no idea what she was saying, but Sam staggered back as if he had been physically hit. His face reminded Dean of Adam for a second. He got the same big eyes, pleading look, and just this stare of betrayal that his little brother adopted whenever Dean snapped at him. Cas too, for that matter. They both looked like smacked puppies.

Finally, Meg turned on him, her dark eyes glittering maliciously. "And you, Dean-o. You're self-sacrificing death was enough to make any self-respecting demon barf." Dean gulped- his throat as clogged as if Meg had turned around and punched him right in his Adam's apple. How the hell had she known about the store? How the hell could she have known? He had literally been there a minute ago. Had she been stalking all three of them? How was that even fucking possible? The more Meg "explained" the more impossible questions popped in his head like a fucking jack in the box.

"Demon?" Castiel choked out. Meg cocked her head at him, grinning like the freaking Chestier Cat. 

"Yes. Demon. Were the eyes and telekinesis not obvious enough?"

"I must be so damned high by now..." Dean muttered, unwilling to accept the fact this was real. It couldn't be real. It really couldn't. Not even his life was this badly screwed. 

"In a manner of speaking," Meg laughed which made Dean scowl. He hated the fact she seemed to know ten times more than she was saying, even if what she was saying was utterly ridiculous. "But we were talking about demons."

"You're saying you're a fallen angel." Castiel supplied in a perfect dead-pan voice. 

Meg shook her head, seeming serious for the first time. "If I was, none of you would be alive right now. No, I'm more of what you would call a fallen human."

"Just when you think humanity can't get much lower..." Dean trailed off. Meg gave him a funny look, almost as if she pitied him for something.

"Trust me sweet cheeks, it wasn't a very long fall."

Sam made a stop motion with his hand. "Hold on. Stop. Let's go back to the whole, we're dead part. I don't like that part."

"Yeah well, welcome to the afterlife." Meg laughed at a joke no one else could understand. She rolled her eyes. "Basically, you died, and then you came back. But not as humans."

Dean felt a flash of fear shudder through his veins. "What else can you be?"

Meg shrugged. "Anything. Demon, god, spirit, monster, leviathan..." she grinned at them with a particularly nasty smile. "...angel."

"Angel." Dean repeated flatly. His mind played back to what his mom used to say to him every night before he fell asleep. Angels are watching over you....

"God?" asked Castiel, ignoring the angel comment for now. "God as in, God Almighty?"

"Well yes," Meg answered as if it were obvious. "And gods as in, Hindu, Norse, Greek, Roman, Egyptian, Babylonian, etc."

"Oh." Castiel answered in a small voice. Dean supposed one answer there was as good as another. What are you supposed to reply to that? 

"Okay," Dean managed. "You're insane."

"Oh no, lamb chops. She's just soft." A second figure of a blonde woman with bright red streaks in her hair came through the broken down doors, smiling serenely as if the abandoned building was the most peaceful place in the world. Dean felt cold shivers run up his spine, his gaze captured with morbid curiosity at her stark black eyes. She was a...demon. An honest-to-God, biblical being popping up from the dusty pages of a long forgotten Bible to smile like everything in the world was as it should be. 

"Sere." Meg's face went blank. "How nice of you drop by."

"Hilarious Meg," sneered Sere as she stepped forward with the clip of high heels. "I see you found three news pets?"

"Pets?" Dean bit the word off harshly. "Lady, I am nobody's freaking pet." He tried to sound brave, even though he knew the words had no force behind them. He felt terrified. This wasn't a threat he could beat with a snarky grin and a cocky attitude. This wasn't a threat he could beat at all. 

"Defenders," smirked Sere, clearly not fooled by his none-to-impressive attempt at courage. "Always so...defensive."

"I happen to agree with Dean," Castiel stepped next to him, blue eyes sparkling with electric light. "I belong to nobody." A spark of power blasted through the air at the last word, crackling like ozone, and sending small shocks down Dean's body. Sam was wincing as well, while both Meg and Sere were clutching their sides with grimaces of pain. Dean was shocked. He felt like Cas had just electrocuted him, like he should be in inconsolable pain, but he was fine. 

"So," Sere coughed before smiled evilly at Cas, blood dripping steadily from her gums and perfect pink lips. "The little kitty has found his claws. Still doesn't mean he can scratch."

Cas yelled as he was thrown backwards, slamming into the wall as he was lifted, bucking and squirming, toward the roof of the building. He was clutching his throat, gagging as his eyes widen in fear. Dean made a noise that sounded like a whimper. This was impossible. 

And then anger. Pure, black-hearted rage. Dean slammed into Sere, tackling her to the ground as Cas fell ten feet through the air, smashing to the floor with a horribly wet smack. Dean glanced over his shoulder, seeing Sam kneeling next to a limp Cas with a worried frown. He looked up at Dean with large eyes, clearly communicating:

Sam: We need to leave. It's bad.

Dean: How bad?

Sam: Bad.

Dean pushed his wrist bone into Sere's throat, making the demon gurgle. "Alright bitch," he snarled, unsure as to why he was throwing his life away for someone else. Again. He supposed that somewhere, in the small part of his mind not either growling in rage or wetting itself in fear, he felt a small voice nagging at him to defend his friends. He had to defend his friends, just like he had defended Adam. It was a nonnegotiable part of his soul.

"You're going to learn that nobody fucks with me or my friends."

"Defenders," laughed Sere breathlessly. "So disgustingly brave. So barefacedly arrogant. Did you really think I came alone?"

Dean didn't even have time to shout before something slammed into his chest like a sledgehammer. He grunted in pain and stumbled back as people began to spill into the building, smiling wickedly as their eyes flashed pure black. Something inside his chest began to burn, a volatile space filled with pent up power, urging to get out. Dean clutched his ribs, his heart uncomfortably warm. This new feeling was painful, as if he was being ripped from the inside out. 

Meg grabbed his arm, wiping blood from her mouth with the back of her shaky hand. "Leave," she gasped, doubling over. "Get out of here. I'll find you."

"How?" Asked Sam, still holding an unconscious Castiel. "Their blocking the exist! How do we leave? Are we supposed to grow wings and fly?"

"Oh sweet cheeks, you, sourpuss, and Clarence don't need to grow wings. You just need to use them."

Dean stared at her. "Insane." 

"Don't argue moon pie. Mommy's always right." She winked at them before turning on the demons, sending three flying backwards. Dean looked at Sam, who was straining under Castiel's dead weight. He grabbed one of the raven-haired boy's limp arms and heaved it around his neck, leaving Cas tipped awkwardly around Sam and Dean's uneven shoulders. They ran toward the closest hole in the ceiling, trying to ignore the screams of the demons around them. Several times, Dean felt something pushing on him, trying to shove him like Meg did the doors. He focussed on staying in place, imagining he was loaded down with lead weights. It seemed to work, for even though the pressure was still there, the unsteady sensation of being pushed off his feet was gone.

"Here," Sam gasped, looking up. The sloping roof was only five feet away, so close but yet impossibly far. "How?" He chocked out. Dean looked up and felt impossible hope pulling in his chest. He was so close to freedom. Frustration and fear burst out in a bomb of pent-up emotion. Cas was out cold, Sam was strained by trying to protect himself and Cas from being thrown backwards, and Dean was completely useless.

He looked up at the azure heavens, a pretty robin egg's blue with not a single cloud in the sky. Today he turned seventeen. He was not dying at age seventeen. Almost as if driven by instinct, Dean willed himself to push up on the balls of his feet, straining muscles he didn't have. He imagined the weight pulling him down suddenly disappearing while the cool outdoors breeze wrapped around himself, Cas, and Sam, lifting them up on a powerful wing.

Sudden and inexplicable pain seared through him like wild fire, agitating his screaming back into full blown misery. Dean cried out and fell on his knees, his eyes watering as a terrible headache grew behind his temples. Sam gently lowered Cas beside him, his face weary. They were on top of a tarmac roof in what appeared to be a school yard, the tar sicking against Dean's skin like gum.

"How did you do that?" Sam gaped as he spun around, peering at the school yard, play ground, and buildings around them with interest. "Where are we?"

Dean couldn't reply. He was in too much pain, too much searing pain that didn't alleviate with time but seemed to grow worse. His eyes sight blurred and black spots danced before him.

"Dean?" Sam's voice seemed far away and gargled, as if he was speaking under water. Dean couldn't seem to muster the energy to be concerned.

"Dean?!?!"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Questions? Comments? Anyone else almost have a heart attack when their TV broke down on Tuesday and they very narrowly managed to see the Season Nine premiere? And yes, I am aware I have no life.  
> Next chapter should be ready to go tomorrow.  
> And yes, there is a reason I said should...


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Nope. No summary. No notes. Just read the damn chapter. It a FAYZ.

Sam gripped Dean by his shoulders, keeping him from knocking his head back on the sticky tar. He gently lowered his head, drawing back his hand and staring at the pink pin pricks from Dean's spiky hair. He stared at the two unconscious boys and suddenly he felt so utterly and completely overwhelmed. He felt raw, vulnerable, new in a way, like a ripe red apple plucked from a tree and unceremoniously destroyed to make apple juice. He felt squeezed, pressured, out-of-control and yet he felt stretched and thin and worn. Nothing seemed to make sense anymore.

He could feel his breaths coming in short, rough pants, his pupils probably dilating from the shock reverberating through his body like hard metal music turned up loud enough to make the pavement shake. Sam stared out at the horizon, not looking at anything in particular, and concentrated on elevating his breaths.

Breath in...out

In..out

In... 

Out...

He closed his eyes and let loose a final, shaky breath. His arms sat lanky and limp around him, awkward and unsure of where they should be or what they should be doing. His chest was an enormous hole, with all his emotions sucked into the dark, not a inkling of fear, regret, hope, sorrow, loss, or anything to be felt. In a way, it was...good. It felt good to be free from the fear that have ravaged him at the abandoned building. But it also hurt. It hurt badly. 

He hadn't had the time to panic over what had happened to him in the building. Everything had been moving so fast, with new information and the demon attack, that he had just accepted this shitty excuse for a new life, no questions asked.

Well, he was asking questions now.

Sam couldn't say how much time went by as he sat on the roof of the building, brooding over past events with growing frustration and confusion. After what seemed eternity of sitting on sticky tarmac, peering down at the empty school with dark eyes, Castiel groaned and tried to sit up, nearly toppling down the slanted part of the roof. Sam grabbed his shirt and hauled him back, just in time to hear the rip! of torn fabric. Sam blinked at the strip of cloth in his hand. 

"Uh, sorry man."

"No need." Castiel finally managed, speaking in that weirdly deep and formal voice. He moved back from the edge and Sam quickly. "This shirt is ruined anyway." He have Sam a hesitant smile, as if he wasn't used to talking to people. That made Sam's eyes soften. He knew what it was like to be lonely.

"Plus," Cas added after as short but profoundly awkward pause. "I assume that is twice now you have saved my life. A torn shirt is hardly equal to my continued existence."

Sam laughed. "I'm glad you think so." He drew his knees into his chest and sucked in a huge breath of air which he puffed out in an enormous sigh. He was glad Cas was awake and fine, but he also felt vulnerable under that penetrating stare, like he was being judged for all his mistakes. The other boy probably didn't mean to make Sam feel so uncomfortable, but the wary look he kept receiving was making small talk a bit of a chore.

"Why are we on top of a school building?" Cas finally broke the silence between them, scooting himself next to Sam unexpectedly. 

"I don't know." Sam shrugged his shoulders, trying not to feel too pleased that the other boy had chosen to trust him, even if just a little. "Dean brought us here. It was weird, one second we were being mobbed by demons, the next we're sitting on top of a school building. He passed out right after that, just kinda grunted and them toppled over. I guess whatever he did took a lot out of him."

Cas nodded, his gaze sharp on the distance. Sam look over his shoulder, examining the other boy with curiosity. He was good-looking, Sam supposed, with a firm jaw, slight stubble, and bed-head black hair that was rumpled every which way. He had a slight frame, more like a runner's than anything else, though Sam could tell from the less-than-modest T-shirt that he had a good build of muscle under tawny skin. The most spectacular thing about him though, were his eyes. They were so blue, in sharp contrast with his skin and hair, and they appeared innocent, wise, and weary with a subtle undertone of such infinite sadness. Sam thought it was a bit like looking at the ocean, seeing the hundreds of thousands of layers making up life and death.

"Do you believe it?" He asked suddenly, startling Sam out of his thoughts. Sam blinked and wondered if he had missed something.

"Believe what?"

"That we're dead." Cas answered shortly. "Or that we were dead and now we're...something else. Do you believe that Meg was telling the truth, that supernatural things are out there and that they're ready and willing to hunt us? Do you believe any of it?" His voice sounded ragged at the end, bleeding with a hint of desperation. Those magnificent blue eyes peered at Sam with mixed signals of hope and trepidation, as if willing Sam to say Yes, but praying to God he would say No. 

It was the most the guy had said since they woke up. Hell, for him that was like a novel. Sam considered all the words carefully, unable to work out how he really felt about everything that had happened. He supposed the main thing was that it happened too fast, like a whirlwind that just flew about in every direction until you reached the 'eye of the storm.' Maybe they were out of the wind, or maybe they shit in the center, watching the world spin around them and knowing they had seconds before they were picked up and thrown back in.

"I don't know what to believe." Sam replied slowly. "I know it's true though. What Meg said about demons and..other beings. How else do you explain what happened to you? To Dean? To all of us? I just can't accept that Jess thinks I'm... she thinks..." he trailed off and chocked back the emotion in his throat. What had Meg told him again? Dead on the first date. Talk about bummers. 

Sam sighed and ran his fingers through his hair. Cas didn't reply to that, just gave him a stoic look mixed with sympathy and understanding. Of course. Cas probably had people back home who thought he was dead. He probably woke up only a few minutes ago thinking about them, probably held shut his closed eyes for just a second longer to pretend everything was fine before cold reality set in. Sam knew he would do so, live in a delusion, just to escape this horrible new world. It was ironic, in hindsight, how much he had wanted to be the normal kid, the everyday joe who didn't stand out, didn't make a fuss, just lived and did some good, and hopefully went Up when they died. Now..now he had no idea who he was or what he wanted. 

Cas shifted again, and his fragments of shirt fell apart completely, leaving him bare chested on top of a school building after hours. He groaned and glared at the offending scraps of cloth, muttering something about cheap manufactures. 

Sam laughed. "I don't think they ever assumed, 'mauled by demon' would be a concern for a client's shirt integrity."

Cas smiled and chuckled a little, rolling back firm shoulders and sighing as a breeze trickled through their hair. "I guess not."

A flash of color caught Sam's eye and he peered at Cas's back intently, seeing a multi-colored tattoo of wings inked onto his back between his shoulders blades, ink veins flashing through the feathers like lightning. Whatever the ink was made of, it was like a opal, reflecting colors that shimmered and changed with ripples in harmony with his bare skin.

"Nice tattoo. Where'd you go?"

Cas blinked and sat up, the feathers of his tattoo seeming ruffled by indignation. "I do not have a tattoo." He huffed, as if amazed Sam would dare make the assumption he would ever do such a thing. Sam grinned, pointing to his back.

"It's right there, genius. A pair of wings that shimmers in different colors and stuff. It's kinda cool actually."

Cas looked at him in alarm. "You're not kidding."

It wasn't a question. Sam's mouth fell open. "You seriously didn't know you had a tattoo?" He asked incredulously. How could you not know? The things stung like a bitch when you got them and then you had to wear the stupid tape-cotton patch over it until the ink dried and the swelling went down. His first tattoo--a black pentagram with blue and yellow flames around it--took forever to heal up enough for him to brag about it to his friends. Not that he ever told them how much the damned thing had hurt.

"I do not have a tattoo!" Castiel started twisting around like a dog chasing it's tail. "Where?" 

"Dude, chill! You're going to fall off the roof again." Sam muttered as he activated his phone's camera and aimed the screen at Castiel's back. "Sit still, I'm taking a picture for you."

He snapped the shot and then handed it back to Cas who eagerly grabbed the phone and stared at the screen. His mouth fell open as he gazed at the wing tattoo. He probably would have gawked all day if Sam didn't feel the pity to say: "Dude. Flies." Making Cas snap his mouth shut with a click of teeth and earning a reproving glare from the other teen.

"I have no recollection of getting this tattoo," Castiel finally replied as he handed Sam his phone back. "While this would normally disturb me, we do have more pressing issues on hand."

"Okay, first off," Sam countered, "Just because we have other problems doesn't mean this doesn't disturb you. And second off, we're stuck on a three story building with no fire escape, window, hatch, chimney or any other possible means of exist other than jump. Suggestions?"

Cas glared at him. "Assbutt."

Sam nearly choked on his own tongue laughing. He doubled over, wheezing, holding his sides as the laughter rolled around him like drums of thunder. When he had recovered enough to speak, Sam was still giggling with bubbles of amusement bursting in his chest while Cas stared at him with a slightly stiff smile on his face. Sam was amazed how good it felt to laugh, it seemed like forever since he had done so. The world seemed brighter than before, if only for a fading instant, a fraction of a second, yet it was enough. The weight of the day had been eased partially off his chest and he was content to enjoy the freedom. 

"What?" Sam chuckled, wiping away a tear. "What hell kind of insult is that?"

"Apparently an ineffective one."

"Apparently," sighed Sam, leaning forward and rolling his shoulders. Cas looked at him strangely, as if Sam had just done something socially awkward instead of completely normal. "What?"

"You also have a wing tattoo."

Sam felt his heart skip a beat. He struggled to turn around, craning his head to try and glimpse the mysterious tattoo. Cas held out his hand so Sam could slap the cheap flip phone onto his palm with a sighed and fiddle impatiently before the picture was snapped. He eagerly jammed the phone into the palm of his hand and stared at the slightly blurry picture, ignoring Cas's horrible photography skills. His wings looked identical to Cas's except for one thing: his ink vein pattern was one of mystic swirls that gave them an ancient touch. He shook his head and slowly turned off the screen to save battery, mystified at how he had gotten a tattoo without knowing. 

"Do you think this may have something to do with the dead-and-risen-but-not-as-humans thing?" Sam asked slowly, wondering if Cas had come to the same conclusion.

"Yes, actually." Cas looked over at Dean, lying on his side, motionless. "Do you think he also has one?"

"One way to find out," Sam responded as he pulled back the remains of Dean's shirt and then cursed. 

"What?" Cas asked in a tight and dark voice, his hands clenched and his muscles pulled taunt for battle. 

"Nothing," Sam replied as his eyes watered. "It's just... his tattoo. Ours shimmer right? Well, his is straight up glowing. Bright as hell." He felt bad for his overreaction, but the glow was so bright and unexpected, his eyes continued to water and squint away the sunlight and tears. 

Cas peered over and then winced and looked away. "You're right. And the pattern is again different."

"Yeah, it looks a bit like Celtic knots." 

"Why is it so much brighter than ours?" Cas asked as he squinted again before looking away. 

"Probably because he used his wings to transport you here," observed Meg casually from across them. Sam cursed and stumbled backwards while Cas sucked in a gulp of air and clenched his fists on instinct. Meg grinned at them lazily, only a single white scar over her arm giving away her recent battle. "Relax moose and Clarence. I'm not here to bite." She knelt by Dean and touched his forehead with soft fingers, right before sparks zipped up her skin, making her curse and lean back on her haunches. "He's strong enough to zap, so that's good, By my guess, he'll come around in a few hours. First flight just knocked the life right out of him, you know?" 

"How--?" Sam sputtered, unable to conceive how she managed to appear right on the freaking roof with them. "What about the other demons?" He barely could contain his panic, his imagine conjuring a vivid picture of hundreds of demons bursting onto the sticky tarmac roof with those cold, black eyes that send shivers down his spine. "What the hell Meg?"

Meg shrugged. "We should probably leave." As if to emphasis her point, an enormous hole was punched through the tarmac roof, exposing snarling demons tensing to launch themselves up and into the air. Sam felt his heart flip into his throat as he stumbled back, nearly falling down the roof as his foot slipped in his hasty retreat. "As is now. Ready to go, Feathers?"

"I have no idea how to fly!" Sam yelped, still distracted by the demons. Meg rolled her eyes. 

"Of course you don't." Before Sam could argue, Dean and Cas were both suddenly flung out over the edge of the roof. His heart skidded to a stop, his body frozen staring at the two boys as they fell through the air, a shocked expression on Castiel's face before he vanished from sight.

"NO!" Sam ran toward the opposite edge they had fallen from, ready to do whatever it took to save them, though he knew they were already gone. He spun around to see Meg looking bored and faintly amused by the proceedings. "YOU KILLED THEM!" Sam roared as he charged forward, ready to slam his weight into the demon bitch and send her flying.

"Relax moose, they're fine."

"OH AND I'M SUPPOSED---" Sam was cut off when something slammed into his chest, sending him tumbling backwards and over the edge.

______________________________________________________________________________

 

"Isn't he supposed to be awake by now?" came a rough, gravely tone that Sam felt was familiar, though he couldn't place it. 

"Yeah. And I thought I slept in." 

"To be fair, you were unconscious longer than he."

"That's not my point Cas."

Sam groaned and tried to turn over, wanting the two voices to subside and let him sleep. He felt exhausted in every meaning of the word. His back ached, his sides burned, and his neck felt stiff and awkward against his pillow. Every muscle seized and twitched from trauma, while a sour taste tinged his mouth like poison. Sam groaned against as springs in the mattress squealed unhappily from underneath him. The plastic-y cover of the bed crinkled under him as he opened bleary eyes to see Dean and Cas looking down at him expectantly.

"Hey Sammy, welcome to the world of the living!"

Sam frowned at Dean, a dull roar in his head making Dean's bright voice sound amplified. "Don't call me that," he replied automatically. Dean snorted.

"Whatever Samantha."

Sam felt a flare of anger, induced slightly mostly his discomfort and partly because Den look far too chipper. "Don't call me that either, jerk."

"Bitch."

"Both of you!" snapped Cas, earning two glares from tired teens. Sam felt another tinge of guilt, Cas looked every bit as exhausted as he felt. The tawny skin over his face had gone white from sleep-deprivation while his eyes were bloodshot and his hair even more rumpled than usual. "Be quiet. I wish to sleep now, as you and Sam are awake for watch. And if you let another demon in Dean, and it wakes me up, you will deal with the consequences." Cas gave Dean a firm look that would have made a seasoned warrior quiver in fear before turning his frighteningly intensive gaze on Sam. "And you will be quiet. You have both sleep for a total of twenty-four hours while I have sleep zero. If I wake up before twelve tomorrow, I will find a way to make you suffer, understood?"

Sam nodded mutely, amazed at how the scrawniest and smallest of the three of them was the one bossing them around. 

"Good."

Cas setlled in a bunk next to Sam and was asleep in seconds. Dean glared at the unconscious form of the black haired with a grudging admiration.

"Do you think he'll wake up if I put shaving cream in his hair?" Dean mused aloud, earning a reproving glare from Sam.

"Probably not," Sam answered, "But I'll wake him up on purpose just to see his reaction."

Dean paled. "Don't," he half begged. "I had a watch with the guy, trust me man. He's insane."

Sam laughed as he stretched luxuriously and took hold of his surroundings. He was in a small, dimly light room with a prison style barred window so covered in dirt Sam mistook the dimness of the lighting to be evening. Two bunk beds lay on opposite walls, with only a hard and cold stone floor and cracked white plaster walls. Sam's shirt had basically disintegrated while he slept, leaving him bare chested in the cool air. Dean wrinkled his nose and beckoned him into the hallway outside the room. Lockers covered the walls, their metal gates corroded and their hinges squeaking when Dean pulled open one of the less degraded lockers and pulled free a plain blue T-shirt before tossing it Sam without a second glance. Sam gave him a grateful look as he slipped the shirt over his head, his skin soothed by the cool cotton.

"Thanks," he shrugged his sore shoulders and looked at Dean expectantly. Dean sighed.

"You look like a puppy when you do that, you know that right?"

"You know what's going on?" Sam asked instead of answering his comment. He felt completely out of place in comparison to Dean and Cas, who had the time to assert themselves into their new space. Sam didn't even know how he got here, or even where here was, since the last thing he remembered being shoved off the roof by Meg and her fucking unfair telekinesis. He supposed it had something to do with the tattoos they all had on their backs, and the whole risen-from-the-dead thing. But it would be nice to get some actual information. He was tired of the shadows, of the mysteries he couldn't understand. He wanted straightforward answers. 

"Outside." Dean replied tersely. Sam tensed as the other boy brushed past him and existed through old metal doors, sunlight glittering faintly before being cut off. Sam licked his lips, weighing how much he could trust these two people he hardly knew. He had met them literally yesterday, but they had already saved each other's lives. They had discovered a world that shouldn't exist together, and he felt this bond with them, as if some part of him was now bound to them. 

"I'm insane," Sam muttered as he pushed open the cool and heavy metal doors, straining against the rusted hinges before he strode outside. 

He was in an abandoned ghost town. Hundreds of spanish-looking apartments, brand new and sparkling in the sunlight surrounded him like white monuments to some lost god. The building where he had woken up was a police station, with a large dying lawn and a stone moment with small names carved into it's obsidian structure. An empty street was before him, still new and freshly painted. Light poles and stop signs littered all the intersections while shops without merchandise still sat with burnt-out neon signs. It was creepily silent, as if thousands of people had just suddenly vanished, taking the soul of the city with them.

"What is this place?" Sam asked as he did a three sixty survey, amazed at the vast emptiness of the place. 

"Some abandoned city in Spain," Dean shrugged carelessly. "Meg brought us here. Said it was the perfect "training ground" or some shit. I didn't really ask, considering we had about fifty demons on our tail."

"From the school?"

"No man," Dean laughed slightly. "We stayed at warehouse for a bit, but I..." he coughed before rushing out the next part, "triedtogetout and well..." he blushed, "long story short, they found us. Meg got us here, and we've been holed up in the station since. She left 'bout an hour to a supply run. Said it would take a while."

"Uh huh." Sam gulped and then lowered his head into his hands. It was too much. Everything hurt outside in aches and bruises while his gut and raw, bleeding, ripped up excuse for a heart pounded in miserable agony. His knees turned to jelly and he sank to the grass, unable to find the will to support himself. It was too much, too soon. He couldn't believe what had happened to him. It was simply too much for him. Sam buried his head in his hands, trying to fight off the sudden panic attack. Maybe this was all a dream, Sam thought frantically. Oh please dear God, let this be a dream. Let me wake up and laugh about this and kiss Jess and enjoy myself. Don't let this be real. Please, don't let this be real...

"Sammy?" Dean's arm was wrapped around his shoulders in an elderly brother way, his eyes concerned. "Hey man, don't freak alright? Let it pass. Come on, just let it process. You'll be fine."

Sam gasped in air, his head spinning as the ground twisted around him, writhing like snakes. He felt like he was in danger of loosing his latest meal. He shivered as Dean hugged him kindly. 

"Thank you," he whispered, trying to draw as much solace as he could from the friendly touch. "I can't..."

"I know." Dean patted him awkwardly, flashing a small smile. Maybe Dean didn't know it, but to Sam, whenever Dean smiled it felt like he was being beamed on by the sun. For this person, this stranger, to have faith in him was like being entrusted with a child's soul. It was precious and strong, and Sam found himself confused on how a person he had just met had suddenly become like the older brother he never had. "I had a couple panic attacks too. It's just... well." he laughed somewhat bitterly and withdrew, leaving ice where his warmth had been. Sam took a deep shuddering breath before rising, wiping his eyes with the back of his hand. 

"Thank you," he said again, smiling at Dean with slightly watery eyes.

"No problem man," Dean replied with a cocky grin.

"Aw, don't tell me I'm interrupted a good bromance," came a teasing voice from behind them. Sam and Dean spun to see Meg, grinning at their stunned faces. Brown paper bags littered the ground at her feet, filled with food and clothes. 

Meg cocked a brow impatiently. "What, you waiting for an invitation? Pick up the groceries already."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you've read Gone by Michael Grant, you should understand that reference.  
> That's right. These notes are quickly becoming an add for all the horrible, gut wrench, soul shattered, hair-tearing books I read. Deal.  
> Characters courtesy Supernatural and the CW  
> And yes, I am aware it is Monday. Here's a fun chapter, early for you!  
> Comments? Questions? Grammar mistakes? (because if there's one thing I fail at...)


	11. Chapter 11

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've got nothing for the summary. Literally. Don't believe me? Nothing. Not one, single thing. Somebody help. Next update will be Thursday! Promise. Aaannnnnddddd.... I hope you enjoy! Thanks for commenting, it brightens my day whenever I reflect on how I should be studying and not writing...  
> So yes, of course I'm writing.

It was a nightmare, but logic could only do so much to ease his troubled mind.

Cas felt the blood dripping down his chest, rolling down his skin and spattering in his belly button as it dribbled like crimson rain on his pants. The pain was sharp in his sternum, aching and pulling on his skin until it conquered his mind in numb agony. 

The heat of his blood warmed his icy skin, but he could feel the drying blood loosing warmth while he grew ever colder, cold enough to smother his breathing. He banged against the small wood door, screaming for his father to let him out, to let him go. He screamed he was sorry, over and over, but his father wasn't responding. And then he could hear Anna screaming, begging for their father to stop. He could hear the smack of flesh on flesh and could hear Anna's limp body slam onto the ground.

His was so cold, he couldn't motivate the will to keep pounding on the door. Castiel slammed his entire body on the sturdy wood, crying as he slipped down to the floor and gasped in pain. Blood was pooling around him now, slow and steady in drips from the ceiling. His hallucinogenic eyes kept seeing shadows forming constrained wings, tied tightly with three chains while they trembled and bucked in an effort to get free. All around him, he heard the laughter and the drunken jeering of his father, making his heart beat spur with anger.

He slammed one last time on the door, finally breaking the hinges and sending the wood flying through the air. He struggled to move his lethargic limbs, knowing he was so close to help, to freedom. He stretched his hand, reaching for that freedom, but his chest was so cold and his body was so numb. His vision darkened and he knew he was about to die, so close to liberty but unable to reach that last inch. Castiel's fingers extended as far as they could go, centimeters away from the beautiful light that was pouring over his numb limbs before his eyesight vanished and his world regressed into darkness.

______________________________________________________________________________

 

"Cas!"

Castiel burst upright, his fingers clawing at his chest frantically, already dripping wet in warm blood. His vision flickered as he tried to take in his surroundings. Was he alive or dead? Was he trapped or free? Frightened blue eyes met steady green and Cas felt a deep shudder run through his thin frame.

He withdrew his hand, staring blankly at the blood now rolling down his wrist. It looked awfully thin. 

"I'm alright," he managed to stutter out at Dean's concerned face. Dean made a sound of disagreement and shot him a clear look easily communicating his disbelief and wish to help. But Cas didn't need Dean, this complete stranger, to help him with his problems. He would fix himself by himself. 

"Man, you are as far from alright as you can get," Dean replied as he sat down next to Cas, staring at the involuntarily self-inflicted wounds with a strange face. Cas didn't like it--it was too close to pity. 

"What do you want?" Cas snapped back, reaching for his jeans he had peeled off in a hazy trance when he had become too warm sometime during his rest. Sharp pain hissed in his wrists and he pulled back with a painful huff, rubbing the sore, tender, and chilled skin. It was evening, and the temperature had cooled substantially, leaving him drenched in cool sweat prickling his skin like pins of ice. The sheets on the bed had been kicked off during his thrashing, meaning the only article of clothing he had on was his thin cotton t-shirt and boxers. 

Dean eyed his with open frustration, clearly wanting to baby Cas. That was too damned bad. Cas could take care of himself-- he'd been doing it for sixteen years. Plus (even though he would never admit this out loud) he found Dean to be interesting in a way he really shouldn't have been, and it unnerved him. The first thing Dean had said when he woke up, the way he insisted on babying people like he needed to take care of someone to feel wanted, the way Meg and Sere had called him a "Defender" and also the way the lighting illuminated his razor sharp cheek bones and casts shadows over stubbled cheeks and a rounded chin, passing over perfect pink bow lips...

Cas shook his head, feeling his chest constrict for a whole new reason. He sighed and ran his fingers through his hair, wincing at the oily feeling it trailed under his nails. 

"Meg's back," Dean replied a little cooly, which Cas supposed was all he deserved. "And she's explaining some things." He proffered his hand to help Cas up, smirking a little as his green eyes ran up and down Cas's body, making him feel dirty. "You might want to grab some pants and a fresh shirt though."

"Shut up," complained Cas as he went to pick up his sweaty jeans. Dean beat him to it, rolling them up in a ball and throwing them on the spare bunk apparently designated as the laundry basket. 

"There are fresh clothes in the hallway if you want me to bring you some."

Cas narrowed his eyes, trying to fight the urge to spit out "NO" and storm from the room. Dean was babying him again and he hated it. Instead, he shrugged his thanks and began to work at a chink in his neck. He removed his sweaty T-shirt and ran his fingers over the fresh wounds, doing little to stem the small trickle of blood caused by his nails. The small crimson rivulets ran down his front, outlining the slightly protruding scars that marred his chest. He turned a little to look out the window, the light catching his scars and making them shine pale-white. They were ugly, but Cas had grown used to seeing them when he looked at himself. It wasn't until Dean walked back into the room, holding a fresh shirt, jeans, and band aids, eyes widening as he took them in with horror that Cas remembered just how ugly they were.

"Holy Sh-" Dean cut himself off and stared at Cas with fury in his eyes. "Who the hell did that to you?"

"I--" Cas trailed off, gulping. He couldn't tell Dean. He had never told anyone, not even Ellen or Jo whom he had known his entire life. He wasn't about to tell a complete and utter stranger, no matter if his heart was screaming that Dean could be trusted. "No one." Cas closed off his face. "Can I have my clothing please."

"Cas-"

"Why do you call me that?" The burst of anger split through his body in arching lightning. He felt impatient and scared, and he was so tired of feeling impatient and scared.

Dean blinked. "It's a shortening of your name. Cas, Castiel? Why, do you mind?"

Cas opened and closed his mouth for a second. He sighed and put out his hand for his clothes, waiting for Dean to shove them into his waiting palms. Now he felt like a complete jerk for being so rude to Dean when he was just trying to help. But that was the problem. Cas didn't want help.

"Thanks," he said gruffly, hoping whatever it was Meg had to say would be enough to justify him being woken up, nightmare or not. 

______________________________________________________________________________

"Finally!" Complained Sam the second he and Dean walked in. "You now how long it took you to get in here?"

Dean stuck out his tongue. "Don't know, don't care."

Cas blushed and fidgeted nervously, the bandaids tightening on his chest. "Sorry, Sam," he muttered, Sam's eyes softening at the apology. 

"He had a nightmare." Dean explained briefly as he collapsed on the bench next to the small kitchen table Meg and Sam had convened at. 

Cas blinked. He hadn't considered the fact that since Dean had woken him up, he must have seen his nightmare. Which also meant Dean had seen Cas twisting and screaming like a small petulant child throwing a temper tantrum. "How did you-" He began, silently praying the answer was not what he thought it was.

"Cas." Sam gave him a pitying look that made Castiel want to throw a punch. It made him want to turn around and hit something, over and over, until his knuckles were bruised and his bones bloody. Sympathy was unacceptable, help was annoying, but pity was hated. He wasn't some poor, frail, problem-child who deserved better. He could take care of himself, and screw anyone who thought otherwise. They couldn't understand. If they did, they wouldn't try and "fix" him by giving him pitying looks and sympathetic touches. If they wanted to help him, they would just leave him alone.  
"We heard you screaming."

Of course. He was always loud whenever he dreamt of what his father had done to him. Somehow, knowing they had all heard him in his moment of weakness was worse than the actual nightmare itself. He wanted to curl in on himself and snap at anyone with the balls to make him unfurl. Vulnerably was something he had experienced nearly every day. It was also something he hoped to never experience again. He took a shuddering breath and closed his eyes to the sharp, florescent lighting of the kitchen, wishing this was all a dream he could will away.

"Do you want-"

"I'm fine Sam." Castiel snapped. He felt instant guilt at the sharply hurt look that crossed Sam's face, as if he was a prized puppy Cas had suddenly beaten. He slipped on the bench beside Dean, determinedly looking only at a bored Meg instead of Dean or Sam's betrayed eyes. Honestly, he hardly knew them. How was is they felt betrayed by his irritation? 

But as strange as it sounded, and it sounded strange, Cas knew their relationship was different that the usual. He trusted these two without reservation, and Cas didn't trust anyone. Not Ellen, not Jo, not Anna, not anyone. It scared him, this instinct saying it was alright to let his barriers slide. Those barriers were in place for a reason. If they fell, God only knew what shit would come pouring out.

"Don't we have something else to discuss?" He growled pointedly at Meg. The demon snapped into the conversation for the first time, looking relieved at the change in subject.

"What, we done with the domestic drama?" teased Meg in sickly sweet tones. She leaned forward, tucking her hair behind her ears and smiled threateningly at the three boys. Cas didn't like her expression, it looked predatory. "Good," she smiled in smug satisfaction as no one responded, leaning back contently in her seat. "Where to start?"

"Maybe the whole zombie thing," Dean snarked, earning a glare from Meg. Cas felt a flare of amusement, but he couldn't laugh. Anna thought he was dead. Just thinking that made him wish he actually was.

"Well, obviously you're not dead," Meg observed dryly. "You're angels."

Silence. Complete and utter silence. Cas felt his brain freeze, his mind slipping as he fought to keep his face clear of expression. He didn't know what to do. Should he laugh? Should he deny? Should he sit there like a rock? Should he ask if he had heard her right?

He probably would have struggled for the entire day, trying to comprehend the complete insanity of what Meg had just let slip from her lips, but Dean started to laugh. It was mocking, bitter laughter that held no joy but merely sarcasm and disbelief. 

"You're joking."

"Am I?" Meg leaned in, her face illuminated by the stark glow of the lights, casing demonic shadows over flawless skin. "Angels have wings. Angels can fly. Angels can kill demons. Sound familiar, lamb chops?"

"But that's..." Sam struggled to speak. "that's completely..."

"Only God can make angels." Castiel replied flatly, finally finding his voice. "He creates them, they are not born or grown, or whatever it is your insinuating. We cannot be angels."

"Normally, I'd agree with you," Meg smiled at Castiel unconvincingly. "But you see sweetheart, times ain't exactly normal. Something upstairs happened, and I mean something big. Something big enough to create three spanking new angels."

"How?" Dean argued, not looking convinced.

Meg shrugged. "I'm a demon Dean-o. I don't know and quite frankly, I don't care. What I do know and what I do care about is the fact a new Guardian, Defender, and Protector have been unleashed on the world with no training and no Godly idea what happened. You three could destroy the entire world if you wanted to, and it's my lucky job to stop you since the other dicks-with-wings have their hands full of demons."

Castiel felt sharp mistrust pulling at his instincts. Meg kept bringing up the fact she was a demon, and while her actions pointed contrary to his mistrust, his instincts were screaming otherwise. Meg couldn't be good news. "Why are you helping us?" Cas leaned forward, taking in every flicker, every twitch of her expression. "The other demons are out to kill us, and yet you apparently help us. Why do you care about the world?"

"So the Protector sees past the mask," Meg joked. "Big surprise. Couldn't exactly expect dweeb and dumbo over there to figure it out,"

Sam and Dean both shouted at the same time, "HEY!"

"...Is for horses," Meg finished with a smirk. "Yes, I know. Now, Clarence here asked a legit question. Why am I helping you?" Meg snorted. "Definitely not for your brains, that's for sure." She flicked an invisible piece of dirt from her fingernail. 

"Then why?" snarled Cas. Getting information out of Meg was like trying to wrangle candy from a two year old.

"Because," Meg smiled at them charmingly. "The leader of Hell, Lilith, got a little....annoying. I was kind enough to tell her so,"

"I bet," snorted Dean, making Sam and Cas grin in appreciation. 

"...and she isn't one to take criticism kindly, so if I can get a few badass angels on my side, well..." Meg trailed off crossing her arms, enjoying the looks of rage and hurt flashing on three faces.

"Basically we're your body guards?" Sam spat, his hazel eyes sparkling dangerously.

"Something like that," Meg smirked. "But since I'm not an idiot, there is a plus side to our bargain for you."

"Yeah?" Dean spat on the table. "Thanks but no thanks, bitch. I don't believe in God, I don't believe in angels, and I sure as hell don't believe that I-- that I am one." He slid from the booth and started to storm off, right until Meg threw back her head and laughed. Her voice filled the room, cold and deadly. As she feel silent, an uncomfortable air pressed on all three until Dean managed to stutter out.

"What the hell was that?"

"That was me, watching you die." Meg replied sweetly, eyes flashing. Dean's shoulder's tensed, and Cas took a sharp stutter of breath. He watched the demon with a hawk's eyes, unable to pierce the demon's disguise. Meg wore her mask too well, clung to her sarcastic and snappy cover too closely for him to be sure what he was seeing wasn't just another act. It burned behind his ribs, his fear of her betrayal, but his growing trust in her presence. Was she really trying to save them?

"I'm sorry," Cas leaned forward, eyeing Meg with a stone-faced mask. "But how do you know that?"

"It's common sense Clarence," teased Meg with a smirk. "You see, Dean-o there, he doesn't have a clue how to use his angel powers. But just because he can't use them doesn't mean there not there." Meg took a sniff of the air. "I can smell it on you. I can feel it in your skin, like a glowing parasite." Meg shuddered. "It's all around you three, makes me feel sick just looking at it. Hell, it makes me feel sick just being next to you!" She twirled her hair around her finger, popping her lips innocently. "Basically you're a big ass beeping red dot on every demon's radar. Even better, you're like innocent little cubs, you might be able to stretch your claws but you sure as hell aren't much of a threat. The world is a big, bad, nasty place and you three," Meg pointed her finger at each of them in turn, "Are the three tastiest meals on the menu."

Dean slumped back onto the bench, defeated. Cas and Sam exchanged looks, expressions loud and clear:

Sam: We are so incredibly fucked.

Cas: You have no idea.

"So," Cas took a deep breath. "That's your offer then? You'll train us on how to "use our claws", as you said" He scrunched his index and middle finger in quotations, "In exchange for our protecting you from Lilith."

"I knew there was a reason I liked you Clarence," Meg beamed at him like a partially amusing pet. "Looks like you got all the brains."

"I wish I could say the same for you," Cas replied coldly. He pushed down the warm feeling that bloomed in his gut at the compliment. Meg was playing him like a pro, and she was well aware he knew so."What makes you thing we'll protect you with our so-called powers? You're a demon, as you so kindly pointed out to us multiple times. Why should we trust you?"

"I'm hurt," Meg sneered and licked her lips as she narrowed her gaze on Cas's face. "But I suppose that's the million dollar question isn't it? Can you trust me? Hell no. Can you trust me not to kill you?" She lifted her chin and met Cas's glare head on, something no one had ever really done before. He blinked in surprise, amazed the demon had the guts to face him down like she was. A grudging respect for her trudged through his veins. She had courage, and that was an attribute rare enough to make Cas think she might not be as sarcastic and shallow as she acted. "I've had my opportunity, Castiel. I could have let the demons kill you in the barn, at the school, or even at the warehouse. I could have killed you when you first woke up. But I've saved your hides three times now, so it wouldn't exactly make sense for me to up and axe-murder you in your sleep tonight. Why would I waste all that effort?"

"Because your a demon," snorted Sam. "That's kind of what you do."

Meg laughed. "Maybe," she admitted proudly. "But in this case, I have no intention of killing you. Besides, I think you don't realize just how difficult it is to murder an angel."

"So you can't kill us?" Dean asked slowly. Cas didn't like the look on his face. It reminded him of a lion, watching, waiting, ready to strike at the least expected time. 

"Of course I can." Meg lounged against the chair. "In a number of ways. Just not normal ways."

"What do you-" Dean never got the rest of the words out. Fast as a snake, Meg wrapped her hands around the wooden hilt of a stainless steel knife, and plunged it straight into Dean's chest.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Did I mention Supernatural is at nine? No? Well it is. At nine. Just so you know. Again.


	12. Chapter 12

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Beautiful summary right? So, I guess it's not Thursday...ops. Sorry this chapter is a bit short of the usual, and that it's late... but I had a LOT of editing to do and very little time to do it in. Anyway, it's here now! Next posting should be around Monday? Thanks to those who comment and leave kudos, you light my overcast days :)

The burning pain entered his chest, his heart ripping itself to shreds over the blade as blood trickled from the wound. Somehow the pain was enough to make him flash back to the last time his heart had been in so much agony...

"Dad please!" Dean had begged, his eyes wide in fear and apprehension. He raised his hand, trying to get his father to listen to him. He couldn't do this. He couldn't rip their family apart like this, not when Dean had done his best to glue the broken pieces together.

"Daddy?" Adam was there, his face blank. John looked up and his face quivered. Dean stared at his little brother, gripped his arm and flung him behind himself so he acted like a human shield. He wouldn't let Adam die. He couldn't...

"NO!" The voice sounded blurry and far away, as if Cas wasn't quite there. 

Dean stared at the hilt sticking out of his chest. How the hell was he still alive? Slowly, acting on instinct, he drew the dripping red blade from his chest and dropped it with numb and sticky fingers. His blood pooled on his shirt, but as he looked at the stab wound, it vanished. 

A fire exploded behind his chest, seizing him with pain. Dean choked and groaned, his hands scratching uselessly at his chest, as if to tear his heart free and ease himself of this dripping hot pain. He heard yells of concern, but he he was panting too loud to understand them, the world spinning, dripping, falling away...

And then he was fine.

"Stop," He groaned at Sam and Cas who had both jumped out of their seats and were looming over Meg who was still relaxed as a cat, though her shoulders were tense. The other boys stared at him, mouth gaping in horror.

"What the fuck?" Sam whispered, his face going white.

"Can I say, I told you so?" Meg laughed easily though the tension in her shoulders dropped. "Welcome to the supernatural world. Regular knives won't do shit."  
Cas stepped back and knelt by Dean, his warm breath washing over Dean's cold neck. Dean shivered and found himself leaning toward Cas's heat instinctively. The other boy raised his head and glared at Meg as Dean's eyes were held captive by the flow of his jawline. He looked like an angel, Dean considered vaguely, with the whole wrath-of-God expression on his face. Sam hovered nearby, like a giant nursemaid. It warmed his heart, somehow, to know that these two strangers considered him family enough to go through the trouble of protecting him from the Hell-bitch, even if their protection was next to useless. 

"You could have just told us."

"I did tell you," Meg pointed out. "I'm trying to prove a point." Everyone froze for a split second, as if stunned by the audacity of the demon. Dean heard a strange buzzing in his ears as the blood rushed up to his head. He jerked suddenly, making a grab for the knife. Cas yelped in surprise, but pushed Dean back and promptly sat on his hand to keep him from grabbing the knife. 

"PROVE A POINT?!?!" Dean found his voice and his anger. 

"Yes!" Meg seemed excited now, pacing back and forth over the kitchen floor. "Yes, to prove a point! You understand, don't you, that you are no longer in your safe, family fluffy worlds! You have dropped into a war zone, smart ass, and unless you listen to me and do exactly as I tell you, you are NEVER going to make it out of this alive."

"Do what a demon tells me?" Dean snorted. "Right. Because I'm sure that will go exactly as planned."

Meg snarled, the lighting beginning to flicker on and off as the tension coiled in Dean's belly. "I'm trying to save your miserable lives," Meg pointed out coldly. "I'm trying to help you understand that this is a brave new world. I'm trying to force through your thick skulls that, unless you want to be captured and killed by demons, you need me."

She glared hard at Dean, boring into his eyes with an accusatory look. Dean stared right back, undaunted. He didn't need anyone except his family. He didn't need or want these messed up people around him and certainly not this demon before him. All he needed was his family and his average, apple-pie life. And yes, maybe Dean had wished for adventure. Maybe he had liked the adrenalin rush that came from danger, the flight-or-fight-response no roller coaster could stimulate. But that didn't mean he actually wished it would happen. That didn't mean he wished this was real. 

"You need my help," Meg intoned slowly, her face hard. "I'll train you, Dean, Sam...Cas," Her voice trembled a bit on Castiel's name. Dean glanced at Cas, seeing a frown on his face. It almost seemed as if Meg and Cas knew each other, from a different time. But that was impossible...wasn't it? Meg seemed to regain her posture, though her gaze on Cas softened considerably. "I'll train you," she offered slowly. "I'll keep you alive." Her eyes were locked on Cas's, and Dean got the feeling the words meant more than a simple promise. There was definitely history there. He did his best to shove down the small jolt of jealousy. It was irrational, really, considering he and Cas had only talked a little over the past...day? Had it only been a day? It seemed like a lifetime. 

But that was just it. It seemed like a lifetime. He wanted to protect Sam and Cas, because they seemed like good people who needed his help. How could he leave them like this, at the mercy of a demon? They both were too trusting, too open for help to see how Meg was nothing more than bad news. He had to stay, if just for a small while. Surely, his family could manage?

"Okay." He surprised himself by speaking, trying his hardest not to gag on the words. Even if his reasons were good, he still felt like he was betraying Adam and John as he spoke. "Okay. We'll stay here, and train or whatever it is you want us to do. But, we can't remain here forever. Demons are after us, and once we're all karate-kid'd up, that doesn't mean they'll stop coming. What's the end game, Meg? How can we go back to being-" his throat caught on the word. "Normal?"

Meg gave him a look, one not of pity or snark, but actual sympathy, as if she understood precisely what Dean was asking for. He was asking for a way back, to being human. He didn't want to live in this world, in this strange new world that echoed with monsters and twilight shadows. He wanted his brother and his father, he needed to talk to Mrs. Tran and play with Adam and Kevin. He wanted to race down the road in the Impala and sing badly with Adam to Zeppelin while rain plunked on the windshield in cordless harmony. This abandoned shell of civilization, with these people, was not where he belonged. Dean was sure Sam and Cas were great people, would be great friends, but they weren't his brothers. They weren't his family, and he wasn't theirs.

"I'm sorry Dean," Meg used his actual name for once, her voice low with understanding. "But you have crossed the point of no return. You can't go back, not now, not ever."

He felt a wrench of pain, deep in his chest cavity where he was sure his heart was supposed to be. A small noise whined in the back of his throat, and he felt burning tears burning his eyes. He had to go back. He had to. Anger boiled over next, filling up the hole in his heart with rage. Meg couldn't stop him. He could go back if he wanted to, explain to them...

"And what are you going to say?" Meg suddenly asked, eyes narrowed as if she had read his mind. "What will you say to them about the fact you've been dead two whole days? Your body may be missing from the morgue, but plenty of people saw your with a red hole between your eyes and your brains spattered on the floor like spilled pudding." Dean winced at her colorful descriptions of his brain matter. "You can't tell them your an angel because a.) that's insane to them and b.) you aren't supposed to be alive."

"I could lie," Dean snapped back, knowing she was going to rip that shameful response to pieces but feeling like he couldn't just sit there and take her verbal lashing. "Make something up."

"Oh, right," Meg rolled her eyes sarcastically. "What are you going to say?" She lowered her voice and did a mocking imitation of Dean, complete with a confounded expression similar to an ape's, "Hey dad, yeah well, turns out I'm a fucking zombie or something, 'cause even though I lost a quart of brains I'm still kinda alive. That's not strange right?" She snorted. "Please." 

Dean opened his mouth, ready to fire back an insult when Cas stepped between them. 

"We understand Meg," he spoke with authority. "But we need some time to ourselves."

She growled low in her throat but could seem to deny those big, pleading blue eyes. "You probably still need to sleep at least a few hours, so be ready to start training at six o'clock sharp." She spoke gruffly, avoiding eye contact with all three boys. 

And then she vanished like a puff of air, leaving only the sharp taste of sulfur behind. 

Cas watched the spot where she had vanished, tense and ready to fight. Slowly his shoulders loosened until he seemed to fall into himself, the inner strength seeming to collapse and crumble until he sank down to the floor, burying his head in his knees. Dean watched him with parted lips, wanting to say something comforting, but only having the words catch on his lips. What could he say, to this complete stranger? What could he say to this broken-hearted teenager with this glint of infinite sadness in his eyes? Sam patted Cas on the shoulder softly before existing the room. Dean hesitated a moment longer, but he wasn't any good at comfort or emotions. He shook his head and turned away, following after Sam, but turning into the bedroom instead of continuing outside. 

None of them spoke to each other for the rest of the day.

______________________________________________________________________________

Meg hated the building. It was cold to the point of freezing, always filled with the taste of sulfur, and the frigid air lingered with screams of the damned. It wasn't in Hell, precisely, more like the waiting line to get into Hell. You could still hear Hell, though, and more disturbingly, you feel the pull of Hell like gravity on your bones.

Meg shivered and waited in the sterile white room, devoid of a single object. People always assumed Hell was like a rocky cavern, covered in blood and rent with screams. While that was true enough for some parts of Hell, the waiting room was made of completely white tile that sparkled with cleanliness and sterility. Meg thought the white room was worse than any cavern, just because it's lack of anything made her feel like crawling into the floor and never coming back up. 

The only color that scared her more than white was blue, or more specifically, the deep, steady electric and ocean blue that seemed to peer into her soul and divine all her secrets. She could vividly recall his face, very similar Castiel's, except Castiel's had a deeper sadness than his. He had always been so lighthearted, so fond of fun, so certain everything would turn out alright in the end...

"Meg." She heard the voice behind her, and froze. 

"Long time, no see." She responded casually, heart beating frantically in her chest.

A low chuckle echoed behind her, this second voice sounding vaguely male. "Still have that same crappy sense of humor."

"Who else would brighten this place up with a little well-placed sarcasm?" Meg tried for a joke. The voice laughed, more intimidatingly than anything else.

"You know, I've missed you, working the racks alone. It was always nice to have a few laughs while cutting open some new souls."

"Enough." The first voice commanded impatiently. Meg twitched, wanting to turn around but not daring so long as her commanders had not given the order. She had heard plenty of horror stories about demons who walked into the waiting room and never came back. She was smart enough to believe them.

"Is the Grace found?"

"Yes," Meg replied instantly. "In three new angels."

"That's new," muttered the second voice interestedly. "Maybe I can have some fun with these little angels before we start."

"I don't think so," replied the first voice crisply. "We cannot damage the Grace in any way. Maybe after." Meg shuddered, all too aware of what a demon's example of fun was. The cold voice was directed back toward her. "Do you have their trust?"

Meg shrugged. "Too soon to say. Possibly one, maybe two, but little Deanie-weanie is a pain in my buns. He'll be the toughest to win over." Guilt twisted inside as she considered those vibrant blue eyes that seemed to run in the Novak family. She could picture the slight squint around them and the look of weariness inside whenever she had done something to disappoint him. He would look at her, just look at her, and Meg would break like an egg shell. She could imagine that look now, those bright blue eyes, and that smiling face. Even after death, the memory would never leave her alone. The guilt would never leave. 

"So long as you get them here by the eclipse, I don't care." The voice responded snidely. "You had better get them here Meg. I don't like failure."

Meg gulped as something cold ran down her back like a trickle of ice. She hated talking to the commanders. Everyone did. They were violate and capricious, a nasty combination. 

"They'll be here."

"Good," the voice purred in her ear. "Make sure they're ready to fight the black-eyes. I'd hate to loose one of them before they got to the right place. And if I loose one of them," A sharp tug split her back and Meg winced as pain reverberated up her spine. "You loose a third of your meat-suit. After you've been sealed inside it."

The male voice chuckled sadistically, almost eagerly. Meg could discern the slight smack of wet lips and tongue, meaning his was literally licking his chops at the chance of getting her strapped to a rack. She may have been a demon, but she still prayed fervently to high-Heaven it never came to that.

She swallowed and managed to get out. "They'll be ready."

"Of course." the pressure on her back vanished and Meg nearly toppled in relief. "Go." 

She didn't wait to be told twice.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Did anyone else have a mini freak out when Dean called Ezekiel, Zek? Or was it just me...


	13. Chapter 13

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> And so, the first day of training begins...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> See that fluff tag we've been ignoring before? Well, arm yourselves, here comes the fluff! And the angst...a bit. More for that later. Enjoy the semi-happiness of the boys, since they deserve it.   
> And yes, I am changing them tags, so be sure to look at those.

Sam woke up to screaming. 

He had drifted outside after Meg had vanished, had sat on the dying lawn of the police station and gazed out at the empty city, thinking it was disturbingly close analogy to how he felt. While Meg's sarcasm and remarks of never going home were directed at Dean, Sam had been right there. He had heard it all, and he knew he could never see Mom, Dad, Sarah, Benny, Andrea, or Jess ever again. That burned in a way in he could only describe as "heart break", and that did not give the oozing blood, the tearing hole, the deep gap, the endless black feeling justice. Everything hurt, ached, deep in his bones like his heart was sharing it's agony with the rest of his body.

He wanted to blame Dean and Cas. He honestly did. He wanted to hate them and Meg for being the only people he could see and interact with for the rest of his miserable life, however long that was; but he couldn't. It wasn't their fault, and he wasn't as petty as to convince himself it was. 

Eventually Sam had finally gone inside, slowly falling into what he supposed was his new mode of sleep. It was strange, as if he were half-submerged in water, seeing both the real world and the dream world. He preferred being unconscious better-- it felt more like real sleep.

He wasn't sure when Cas had come stumbling in, maybe around one or so. But the second he heard the raven-boy's scream, he had shot upright, certain they were being mauled alive by vicious, snarling many-faced demons. Instead, Cas was thrashing in his sheets, sweat blotting through the cotton as he twisted and trembled, his face contorted with fear and self-hatred.

"NO!" He screamed in a low guttural sound that made the hairs on the back of Sam's neck stand up. He tore the blankets from his body, shivering in a sweat covered bare torso and boxers, pale scars shimmering like silver rods against his tan skin. Sam felt his heart flip in horror. 

"Ana!" He threw his head to the side, curling into a ball, crying in rage. "NO! Get off her you bastard! No! I'm sorry! I'M SORRY!"

Dean was by his side only seconds before Sam, his face pale. He grabbed Cas's shoulders and shook him his voice broken by sleep. "Cas!"

Castiel kicked, throwing his covers over the side of the bed, his eyes now wide open and clearly seeing something different from Sam and Dean. His glassy stare caught sight of Dean and he screamed in his throat, scrambling away, tears slipping down his cheeks. "Please," His voice was strangled, hoarse from screaming. "Please, I'm sorry. I'm sorry!"

Dean grabbed his shoulder and roughly pulled Cas into a sitting position, shaking his lolling head. "Cas!" He barked. "Come on, wake up!"

Cas eyes closed and then shut open, his body relaxing before tensing so every muscle stood out clearly through his sweat stained skin. He shoved Dean back, sending the boy reeling backwards and slamming into the ladder of the bunk bed with a hollow thunk.

"MOTHERFU--"

Dean's curse was drowned out as Cas leaned over and vomited over the stone floor. Both Sam and Dean went quiet, staring at Cas with brittle shoulders. Cas held his stomach and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, shaking all over as if he had a fever. His rumpled hair was sticking up every which way, slick with sweat. He eyed Dean apologetically and managed to whisper;

"I'm sorry."

Sam and Dean winced, both remembering what Cas had been screaming during his nightmare. "It's fine man," Dean assured him, far more gentle than Sam thought he could ever be. "You're good right?"

Cas nodded slowly, taking a shuddering breath. "I'll clean...this up," he gestured to the vomit as he carefully rose from the bed, carefully avoiding the puddle of sick. Sam felt his own stomach turning at the smell.

"Let's move," he grunted a suggestion and bolted to the kitchen.

Meg was already there, knife in hand, her hair flying around her shoulders. She caught Sam as he skidded into the kitchen, cursing as she side stepped him to avoid impaling him on her knife.

"What the Hell was that?" She grumbled, clearly freaked out over something though Sam couldn't imagine what. 

"Cas had a nightmare." Sam said by way of explanation. But he knew it had to be more than a nightmare. It sounded more like a episode, a flashback or something. Whatever had happened to Cas, it was some serious stuff that Sam was sure had something to do with the way he flinched when you touched him and the pale, silver scars on his chest. 

Dean emerged from the darkness of the hallway, bare chested with a clean shirt draped over one arm. Meg eyed him, unimpressed. 

"Nice six pack, Super boy," she snarked. "Now put a shirt on before my eyes burn out."

Dean rolled his eyes but complied, muttering something about 'no appreciation of a strict workout.' Meg grinned suddenly, her eyes flashing black for a split second, casting shadows that made her look truly...well, demonic. 

"Then you'll be used to a strict schedule," she replied sweetly. Dean paled, somewhat, though he did his best to keep his bravo. 

"Of course. And for future reference, I'm Batman."

Sam rolled his eyes. "Whatever Robin." He turned to Meg, ignoring Dean's indignant look. "What schedule?"

"I also am curious," Cas asked from the doorway he leaned on. Sam had to admit he liked like crap. His eyes had large dark crescents under them like smiling bruises. His thin frame was shaking like a leaf under his shirt, and his knuckles were white from gripping the doorway in an attempt to steady him.

Meg whistled. "Who ran you over, Clarence?" Despite the smart-assed comment, Sam detected a hint of actual concern in her voice. She walked over and gripped his chin in her hand, eyeing him carefully, her gaze softening as she peered at his intense, glaring blue eyes. "You want to talk about it?" she asked quietly. Cas shook his head as best as he could and Meg let go after a second hesitation. She half-turned toward Sam, her expression tense.

"Since you all have no how to survive, we start with that. If demons attack, you need to know how to get away. After that, we'll try healing, manifesting blades, exorcising, flying and a human workout to maintain good shape. As for more Grace related things..." Meg shrugged. "Sorry Sasquatch." 

Sam sighed in annoyance. "You suck."

"Don't we all know it," Dean muttered under his breath. Meg glared at Dean pointedly. 

"Do you want to get stabbed in the chest again sweet cakes? 'Cause I'm more than willing to accommodate." Dean huffed out a breath of irritation but apparently took her seriously enough not to comment. Meg smirked.

"Didn't think so. Well then," she eyed Cas worriedly before winking at Sam and Dean. "Let's get this party started." 

______________________________________________________________________________

Sam was panting, covered in sweat, and bruised beyond belief. He threw himself on the mat in disgust, wiping his brow while his chest heaved from exertion. He lolled his head to the left and glared at a smirking Meg in frustration, sweat blinding one eye.

"I hate you," he groaned and rubbed his aching ribs. Meh laughed and crossed her arms, not a single bead of sweat on her. 

"You know what they say," the corner of Meg's mouth twitched in a smile. "The bigger they are..."

Sam groaned again and covered his face in misery. "Your humor needs some serious work."

Meg snorted. "But I'm so puny."

"That's bad enough to make someone vomit," Dean's voice echoed behind them. He was leaning on Cas, panting and taking shaky swigs of water. Meg had already pounded him into the mat, although Sam was positive she had gone harder on Dean, probably having fun beating his ego into the Earth's core. He reached weakly in a vague upwards direction, hoping Dean would understand the silent plea for water. Thankfully, he was rewarded by the slap of a bottle in his hand. 

Meg surveyed them with part disgust, part amusement. Sam could tell she was about to do her "coach" routine and chew them out for being shitty angels. Well, Meg could suck it. 

"I have never had an easier fight in my life," she started, her eyes challenging. "Honestly, are you even trying? Do you like getting pounded into the mat?"

"What hell kind of question is that?" Dean grumbled. "No one likes-"

"THEN STOP GETTING BEATEN SO DAMNED EASILY." Meg stalked toward them like a lion, her eyes flashing pure black. Sam felt a shiver run down his spine at her non-to-subtle show of her demon side. She was trying to force them to understand who she really was, and who they really were in turn. 

"You know what's going to happen when we're attacked?" Meg demanded angrily. "You all are going to be torn apart, piece by tiny, insufferably small piece. You three are the saddest excuses for angels I have ever met-"

"Fuck off!" Dean snarled. 

Meg cocked a brow at Dean evilly. "You got the talk Winchester, but you sure as hell don't have the walk. You can talk back when you finally learn how to throw a proper punch, alright?"

"You haven't sparred me yet," Cas interjected. He walked forward, face still paler than it should have been. "Perhaps you should try me before you assume all of us can not fight."

Meg rolled her eyes but nudged Sam in the ribs with her big toe in an attempt to move his limp frame from the mat. "Alright then Clarence. Let's see how macho you are?"

Cas took his position on the mat, eyeing Meg warily. Sam rolled off the mat, still far too tired to attempt to get up. He watched as Meg began to stalk around Cas like a predator, clearly thinking she was going to rip Castiel up as easily as she had Sam and Dean. Cas watched her wearily from the corner of his eye, barely having time to tense before she pounced in what was one of those blink-and-you'll-miss-it kind of moves.

Her hand shoved his right shoulder back while her other grabbed his left, shoving him at a forty-five degree angel where Sam knew she would get him into a chock hold. Instead of fighting, however, Cas merely stood there while her arms wrapped around his throat like a cobra.

"Pathetic," she hissed, his face bulging slightly from the pressure. 

And then she was flying over Cas's shoulder, ramming face down on the mat as Cas planted a knee over her neck, making her go still.

"Agreed," He purred in her ear, big innocent blue eyes glistening in amusement. Meg laughed, actually laughed. Sam watched, his muscles burning in sympathetic agony as she threw Cas off her with inhuman strength, stretching up on her tip toes while she eyed her trainee with new purpose.

"That was better," she grinned widely, her eyes flashing black. "But I dare you to try that again..."  
______________________________________________________________________________

Meg breathed in the air, her chest expanding and then deflating as a whoosh of carbon dioxide exhaled from her shrinking lungs. It was something she actually had missed the most, the ability to just stand there and breath in the world around her. It wasn't quite the same, in a meat-suit, but it was close enough. 

She did her best not to think about the last time she could remember inhaling air, real air, with her own lungs. Years ago, at least a century on Earth, and far, far too many years in Hell. But somehow, despite all those years weighing her down, she could still remember those vividly blue eyes that had been her saving grace in Hell. Every time she had breathed in the brimstone and the fires so hot it burned her throat and lungs, she would recall those eyes, like lightning reflected on the ocean, and she would find the will to keep fighting, keep going. It hadn't been enough, in the end. But in the end, nothing ever was. No one could resist the pull of Hell on their souls, twisting and warping them until they were nothing but black smoke. 

Meg shivered. And after all that time, all that pain-filled, agony, mind-numbing time, those eyes were back to haunt her. 

"Will you ever leave me be, Jardiel?" Her voice whispered the name, his name, softly and without a hint of the demonic malice often found in her candor. She couldn't seem to breath, just thinking about him, his smile, his eyes, the firm and yet honey sweet texture of his lips... Meg shook her head. She was loosing it. She shouldn't be thinking about Jardiel, especially since she hadn't done so for the longest time. Meeting Castiel was what was trigger these painful memories. His very presence was a constant reminder of what she had lost, of the years she had had to pay.

"Meg?"

She cursed and spun, seeing him standing there, looking frail in the cold, as if summoned by her thoughts. 

"Clarence."

He blinked at her for a second, his head cocked in the same strange, confused way Jerdiel had always moved. Meg blinked back unexpected tears as the unhealed hole in her smoky black heart seemed to tear open again. She missed him so much, and though she was certain he was in heaven, she had to wonder if he could see her now, look down at her and see how much she loved him after both their deaths. Or maybe he would look down and hate her for what she had become, for what she had failed to do. Meg had promised she would never become a demon. She had promised to do what was right, to atone for her sins. Now, she only had oh-so many more black spots on her broken soul.

Suddenly, Cas was by her side, his hand gently grasping her arm. His fingers were calloused like his, gentle and rough like sandpaper. Meg felt her meat-suit's heart skip a beat. Looking at him gave her the strangest sense of dé-já-vu. If she thought hard enough, she could picture fireworks flashing in the sky, of steady blue eyes, the pounding beats of the oceans waves and her own skipping heart, and the lingering taste on her lips like gunpowder and smoke...

"Meg?"

She blinked, aware of how strange it must seem to Castiel, finding her so vulnerable like this. She felt raw and exposed, as if he could see past the meat-suit to the demon within, which, all things considered, he probably could. She licked the sticky, dry roof of her mouth, unable to stop the fluttering warmth kindling in her belly as she looked at his black colored, messily untidy bed-head, as if he had combed it with a pillow. "Nothing," she managed with a hefty sigh, looking back out at the streets. How she could even think of him like that was beyond fucked up. She would love Jerdiel every second of every day of her life--it was terrible to think she could be crushing like a school-girl on his...

She stopped the thought before it could go farther. There was no reason to let things get weirder between herself and the three boys. She was here only to prepare them for the sacrifices to come. She wasn't here to get attached, to stare into deep blue eyes and feel the remains of a smoldering love she had buried long ago. She wasn't here to find love again. It would only make life that much harder.

"You seem sad." She snorted at his childish description. Clearly, he was about as emotionally stunted as Deanie-weanie. 

"Really?" She snarked back, and then instantly regretted it as he reproached her with those big, blue eyes. God he looked so much like Jerdiel, she had nearly had a heart attack when she had first seen him. She had to resist the urge to run her fingers through his hair and breath in that beautiful scent.

He gave an odd look before nodding stiffly. "Then I guess I'll go..."

"Don't go." She gripped his arm, making a pitiful noise in the back of her throat. Cas's eyes widened as he looked at her incredulously. Flaming red spots grew on her cheeks as she realized how that must have sounded. As is she, Meg, the tough-as-nails demon was begging some poor human boy to stay and keep her company. As if she needed him.

"Is there something you want to tell me?" He asked softly, stepping closer now. Too close. Meg could feel the heat of his skin, curling around her and inviting her to come closer, to bury her face in his chest and let her problems melt away. Her hand slipped from his arm and Meg gasped slightly as he wrapped his fingers around her stiff, cold ones. Butterflies fluttered in her stomach and she was forced to look away from those beautiful blue eyes, else her secrets come tumbling from behind the mask of pain and solitude she had grown over the centuries. No one had unfazed her like Jerdiel, and now Cas. She hated it, and yet she loved that they could see the person she was, even if it became lost in a whirlwind of black haze. 

"I'm sorry." The words slipped out on their own accord, unwanted but hanging between them. Meg knew they weren't directed toward the boy before her. They were directed toward the boy in Heaven, the only boy she had ever considered with something akin to love. 

"For what?"

This had to stop. Now. She forced her way from his intoxicating warmth, letting the coolness of the evening breeze pass between them and whisk the heavy moment away. She pulled at her numb fingers, unable to free them until Cas reluctantly separated from her. They stood, eye to eye, like soldiers on a battle field, each facing the other in opposition and knowing their was no way past their natures. 

"Movie night's going to start soon." Meg's voice was dull and flat. "Go join Sasquatch and Super-boy. I'll stand guard."

"Isn't that more my duty?" Cas asked her with a half-smile that shined through his eyes and barely touched his lips. Meg forced herself to ignore the heat blushing on her cheeks. 

"Did you figure it out?"

"Not really." Meg sighed. She wasn't up to anymore explanations this evening. Meg was not a patient person at the best of times, and now, with Cas so close and her memories closer, she was feeling red and new, unable to hid beneath her mask like she yarned to. Castiel seemed to understand though. He started to reach for her, arms half open for a hug, before faltering, eyes unsure if she wished to have anymore contact. That look was more than she could bare. Meg grabbed his arms and pulled him in for a hug, inhaling his warmth and smell like every breath was her last. She didn't try to ignore the way their bodies fit together, or the way his face was only inches away from her, lips open in surprise, or the way his hands reached awkward to return the hug as if he had never hugged before in his life. She loved it, loved the feel of sleek muscles under her arms and for a second she was certain she could never let go.

But she did, because she had to, because she was a demon and he was an angel. Maybe Meg had never been big on following the rules, but she wasn't ready to be sealed inside a meat-suit and tortured for a boy she had just met. No matter how much he reminded her of Jerdiel, he wasn't. And she was nothing more than a sick, lonely, and lost haze of black smoke chasing futility after a memory. 

"Meg--" she cut him off, squeezing his hand slightly. 

"Go." She ordered, doing her best to pull on the mask. "Give Super-boy a kick in the pants for me." 

______________________________________________________________________________

The weeks went by a hell of a lot faster than any of them could have anticipated. As Meg had promised, the training was the most demanding program Sam had ever participated in, and not just physically, although that was a big part of it.

Every morning was sparring with Meg or with each other, and while they learned many new techniques, the main point of the sparring lessons were to tap into their Grace and fight as angels, not humans. It was difficult, as Sam had found out, to do, mainly because in order to "tap into their mojo", they had to abandon all emotions. Meg only made things worse, taunting and snarking her comments on a daily basis. 

It also hurt. Whenever his Grace withdrew back into its small cavity inside his chest, it burned his heart like a searing flame, entwining around his nerves and clenching his muscles in agony-induced spasms. What worried him more, though, was the ease that flowed through his veins like water, soothing him every time he channeled the Grace within. Perhaps most would have taken it as a good sign, the new ease and comfort of the Grace through his limbs, but for Sam, it was a new worry to add to his list. He didn't want to be an angel. This new state of being wasn't his choice, and there were times he felt like the Grace inside was a violation of his soul. It was like an involuntary child, unwanted but growing, feeding off him without his consent.

And of course, Meg was no help, though Cas and Dean seemed to better understand his sentiments. They, at least, could relate, as the same things were happening to them. Sam had gotten to know the two boys better as they ran, sparred, worked out, and continued with their extremely wearing exercise program. Dean was like the older brother Sam had never had: he was always willing to go to bat with Meg for him or Cas, and he continuously worked with a dogged determination born from his being the son of a Marine. When Sam had used the term, ex-Marine, Dean had cracked a smile and said in a melancholy voice, "Once a Jarhead, always a Jarhead."

Sam still wasn't sure on what to make of that.

Cas was different entirely. Whereas Dean seemed loud, self-confident and assured (though Sam was 99% sure that was front), Cas seemed...shy, but only at first. More so, he seemed complex in a way Sam found continuously intriguing. Something about him was different, and Sam was curious as to know what. He didn't seem to be the only one either, considering the appraising looks Meg often glanced in Castiel's direction.

It was in early February that Sam felt like he had a break through with his roommates. It had been a particularly successful day for them, where even obnoxious Dean managed to wrangle a few compliments from Meg. The demon had promised them a few days off while she gathered the necessary research to gear their training toward a new more angelic direction. Sam wasn't sure how he should feel about that. He wanted to learn more, but this parasite-like Grace inside his chest seemed to weight him down. He wasn't sure of it would grow worse or easier if his Grace was exercised rigorously daily, like Meg implied. 

Still, he shoved his anxiety aside to enjoy one free day with Cas and Dean, Meg having excused herself earlier on. When he walked into the newly refurbished living room, he had to admit Meg had done a good job getting exactly what three teenage guys needed to live: a microwave, frozen pizza, bean bag chairs, a flatscreen TV, and a kick-ass sound system.

Sam collapsed on the green bean-bag chair, stealing Dean's popcorn from his hands while a commercial for a Kia blared on the TV. Dean fixed him with an evil eye, leaning over and snapping up a large handful of popcorn as he stuffed them in his face.

"Bit'ch," he mumbled around a mouthful of food. After their first argument had been overcome, they had started using the insults as endearment, though Sam wasn't entirely sure why. He just knew it felt right. Why argue with that?

"Jerk," Sam smirked and popped a kernel in his mouth. "Keep shoveling 'em down your face like that and you'll chock."

"And I refuse to preform CPR." Came Cas's voice as he wandered into the room, his face drawn and pale. Sam stared at him sympathetically. Cas had been having a rough last couple of weeks. He woke up screaming and thrashing from nightmares nearly every night, and rarely got more than an hour's peaceful rest . While Meg had established through several torturous experiments that they only needed to sleep once a week, eat twice a week, and drink four times a week to maintain proper health, old habits died hard. Sam missed sleeping in sometimes. It wasn't just that at least twice a week Meg keep them going for two days straight, it was also because whenever he had slept for about six hours, he inevitably woke up. 

Cas ambled over to the red bean-bag chair, rumpling his hair as he yawned, eyes closing wearily. Dean eyed him carefully, as if Ca might just break apart. Sam knew something was up with those two. They rarely talked in front of him or Meg, but they had to talk sometime because they seemed familiar with each other. Sam wondered vaguely if they didn't talk in front of Meg because it seemed that Meg was sweet on Cas, and Dean hated her demon guts.

"What activity do we plan to engage in that takes preference over my sleep?" Cas asked as he leaned forward and snagged a handful of popcorn. 

"Jesus Cas, way to bore it up," Dean joked, using the nickname he had given Cas during the first week because "Castiel is too much of a fucking mouthful to say."

"And to answer your question..." Dean leaned forward and withdrew a copy of the original Star Wars, with Luke and Leia prominent on the cover. 

Cas eyed the movie warily. "That looks....interesting."

Dean stared at Cas as if he had just run over Dean's puppy. "Excuse me?" His pointed his finger at Cas, face a mask of mock rage, "You will watch Star Wars and you will enjoy it!"

Cas held up his hands in equally mocking horror, "Oh no, please. I'm quaking in my sweats."

Dean eyed Cas's loose sweats, barely clinging to narrow hips, with a smirk. Sam coughed in amusement and grabbed the TV remote as he changed the settings to movie. "Please, get a room."

Cas rolled his eyes in the most dramatic way possible, literally rolling up his irises until the vibrant blue was barely discernible, raising his shoulders and letting them drop in a way that made his whole body shiver. Sam and Dean stared at him for half a second before cracking up, unable to sustain serious faces at such a over-done display. Cas's staring at them like they had gone mad only fueled the flames.

Afterward, as they turned off the lights and went on a Star Wars-a-thon, Sam smiled for no particular reason, watching the epic unfold on the screen while cuddling a warm feeling in his chest that he hadn't felt in a long time. 

It wasn't until they were all drowsing lazily as the credits rolled on the screen that he realized he counted himself among friends for the first time.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Comments? Questions? Grammar mistakes? Spelling errors? Feel free to be as insulting as you want, I've had enough experiences with older siblings to grow a thick skin. ;)


	14. Chapter 14

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Meg and Cas have a moment

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I AM SO SORRY. Might as well get that off my chest. YES I promised this like, months ago, and I am so sorry, but the writer's block has been horrible. I literally sat there and stared at this damn thing for an hour. More than once. Anyway, I'm not too pleased with how it came out and I reserve the right to edit it more, but this is what I have and I figure you all are about ready to emulate my friend and wring my neck for being so bad at posting...  
> I am sorry. You have my permission to chew me out in the comments section.  
> Anyway, yeah... enjoy?

Dean had wanted to make a breakfast pie, of all things. Of course, who was he to say no? Wherever Dean was a concerned, Cas felt a certain obligation to help however he could. If Dean wanted to make pie, then pie they would make. And it wasn’t secluded just to Dean either. He felt similar with Sam, and especially, Meg. 

Whatever his personal feelings, Dean and Sam had gone shopping for pie ingredients, grinning ear to ear. Cas felt good watching them fool around. It was almost like the family he had never had. Somehow, in some way, this was his new family. A second chance, almost.

Which, of course, was a horrible thing to think, but he thought it anyway.

He meandered around the police station for a few minutes, finding his way back into the game room where he hovered in the doorway, vaguely thinking it felt so much emptier without Dean and Sam’s presence filling the room. He curled up in one of the bean bag chairs, sinking into the plush leather with a sigh, running his fingers through his hair. Whenever he was alone, like now, he couldn’t help but think of Ana, wondering if she was alright, if Ellen and Jo had taken in her in, or if their father had tried to take custody of her. He wondered if she missed him and what lie Father had made up to hide his absence. Or maybe the fucker decided to actually be responsible for once and own up to his sins. Not likely, but he could hope. 

He buried his head in his hand, feeling utterly useless. He couldn’t do anything right, whether it was helping his little sister, his friends, or even fighting. It was eating him alive, this parasite in his stomach, constantly informing him he wasn’t good enough, that he didn’t try hard enough. He didn’t know how long he had been sitting in the dark room, alone and buried alive by emotions, when he heard familiar snarky tones reaching his ears.

“You look lost Clarence.”

He raised his face, flushing red as he locked eyes with Meg. Her hard face softened inexplicably, her mouth drawn into a tight line as she silently watched the unbidden tears streak down his face. She sat next to him, her shoulders brittle, as if she was restraining herself from reaching for him. Meg always seemed to act this way around him, as if she was reminded of something truly horrible by his mere presence, and yet was drawn to him. Cas rubbed the bridge of his nose with a sigh. A simple life was all he ever wanted, and yet nothing in this convolved world was simple anymore. It was tearing him apart.

“You should think less.” Meg informed him with her usual brutality though the worry on her face was enough to counteract the harsh words. Cas watched her with a slight wrinkled in his brow, trying to pierce the mask she keep strong over her features. 

“It is rather hard not to.” He replied wearily. Meg shifted uncomfortably.

“Yeah, I get that.” She sounded so much like Dean, for a second, Cas expected to see him sitting there, a smug grin in his green eyes. A small smile twitched on the corner of his mouth. It was moments like these when he thought he knew why Meg and Dean couldn’t stand to be in the same room as each other. They were both rough, tough, and hiding themselves behind masks of impenetrable fearlessness. They both tried their hardest to live to their supernatural titles and never to let the world effect them. 

“So, who was he?”

Meg looked like she had been slapped. “I don’t know—“, her eyes darting away desperately.

“The person I remind you of.” Cas cut off her sentence, determined to know. “Don’t lie,” he added, seeing her hesitate. By the death glare Meg was sending his way, he could tell she did not want to talk about it. But there was pain there too, horrible, mind numbing pain he could understand. Cas met her glare head on, staring into her eyes. There was nothing romantic about it. They weren’t too lovers lost in each other’s gaze, they were two opponents fighting for dominance. He wouldn’t back down because, as much as she may loath to admit it, Meg needed his help. She needed to stop letting old wounds fester and start letting other people bandage them up. 

But clearly, that wasn’t going to happen today. Cas broke their silent competition, rubbing his knee absently. He couldn’t force her to speak out. “Never mind.” He sighed and rubbed his face, scrunching his lips together and squinting his eyes. “I just…never mind. It’s none of my business.”

“Yes,” Meg snapped back. “It really is none of you business.” 

Cas only sighed at her sharp words. He was too exhausted to become riled. He felt a lethargy pulling on his limbs, induced by his recent in insomnia and the heavy emotional drain of these past few weeks. 

The air between himself and Meg was thicker than custard now. Cas shifted his weight to the balls of his feet and prepared to stand when he caught sight of Meg out of the corner of his eye, her face pinched and eyes fractured. He slowly sat back, watching her with a blue-eyed intensity, waiting for her to break.

“He looked just like you. Blue eyes, black hair, the face, the nose, the attitude…” Meg trailed off, her face wishful. “I remember him so clearly, even though it’s been decades since I last saw him. But you never really forget your first, you know? Their smile, their laugh, their face, their habits; they always cling to you like rust on your soul, staining you forever.”

Cas was silent. Meg’s words were loaded with self-hatred and heartbreak. He could discern that, whoever he was, the man had meant the world to Meg. And judging by the bitter guilt in her voice, she had done something she had never forgiven herself for. He knew no words would be able to heal that kind of pain.

“I’m sorry.” He said anyway.

“Why?” Meg snorted, running her palms together and avoiding his gaze. “You didn’t kill him.”

“I’m not sorry he’s dead.” Meg inhaled sharply, anger flaring in her eyes as she matched his gaze. Cas cocked his head, registering the pain flickering through her face, before continuing, his every word carefully enunciated. “I’m sorry you’re hurt.”

The tension was palpable, heavy as ozone between them as both gazes met head on once more, neither willing to back down. Cas could have stared at her eyes all day, seeing the complex layers flickering downward through her irises. He could see the hurt, the bitterness, the pain; but he could also see the sympathy and the love, buried deep but present, her saving grace.

And he saw something else, something he didn’t have a name for. 

Finally she turned aside, getting to her feet in a swift movement, her brown hair flicking over her shoulder lazily. “Thank you,” she said with utter sincerity. And then she stalked from the room, leaving him wondering if she was angry or simply overwhelmed.

…

Meg was utterly gone. One look into those blue eyes, those fucking blue eyes, and she was gone faster than a speeding bullet. It would figure, the one person she should hate the most was the person she…

No. Not finishing the thought. 

She retreated to the kitchen, but he was still so close, his heartbeat drawing to her like a magnet to metal. His gravity was swirling around her, a black hole inviting her to give in and fall into his embrace. But she couldn’t. She was demon. A kickass, unrepentant demon and she was using all three boys for her won purposes. And it wasn’t fair. Every second she spent with Castiel, she would always see a different person in his place. She would never associate him with angels or demons, but with laughter and safety, with smoke and gunpowder and the ocean with fireworks blaring overhead. 

So she ran father than the kitchen. She went to China, on a deserted section of the Great Wall, listening to the utter quiet and trying to sort out her blackened soul. 

Demons weren’t capable of love. She knew that. They were corrupt and evil, a fallen form of their original innocence. She had killed countless people, possessed countless people, and never felt a half-second of remorse. Hell had changed her, twisted her until when she looked at an ordinary person, she didn’t see a life or an individual, just a meat suit. Just another body clogging a street of corpses. Was it sick, wrong, and disgusting? Yes. Did she used to care? Hell no. So why the guilt, clogging her throat and tempting her to choke? Why the twisted stomach and the sweaty palms? Why the over-reaction of someone guilt-ridden and in love?

Because she couldn’t be either. She just couldn’t.

A pop echoed in the air behind her, sharp with a twang of sulfur that immediately gave away the presence of her fellow demon. 

 

“Jeffery.”

“Meggie!” Her lieutenant gave her a wicked smile, sitting next to her with a graceless plop of his limbs. “Why China of all places?” He wrinkled his nose. “Why not Japan? At least they have anime.”

Meg snorted. “Your obsession with cartoons is beginning to borderline scary.”

Jeffery laughed. “Just because you have no appreciation for higher art-forms doesn’t mean the rest of us have to be so disillusioned.”

Meg snorted, enjoying the emotionless bantering back and forth. “Higher art-form? Sculptures are higher art-form. Anime is porn for kids.”

Jeffery gave a fake gasp, clutching his heart as if shocked. “You know it’s my dream to work at one of the studios!”

“Sure. Be the first demonic employee. Go ahead and put “Hell’s Lieutenant” on your resume. See how well that works out for you.”

Jeffery just shook his head, one of the few demons ever to be truly relaxed around her cynical sarcasm. But his gaze was unusually soft, and when he matched her gaze, she saw understanding in those black eyes. Meg felt a stir of anger in her gut. She clung to the emotion helplessly, trying to fuel it and let the spark grow. She would much rather be angry than so desperately lost. 

“What are you smirking at?” She snapped, trying to push the anger throughout all her veins like poison. Jeffery shook his head and looked out at China, his mouth slightly pouty. 

“How are the angels?”

Meg blinked, surprised by the sudden change in conversation. “Fine,” she answered suspiciously, wondering what thoughts were running through her companion’s head. Demons didn’t have friends, but Jeffery was the closest she had gotten to another of her kind. They had a mutual respect for sarcasm and skills. Perhaps they weren’t the poster-perfect example for relationships, but it worked. 

“Good. How’s Castiel? It must be hard, considering your…history.”

“Is that what this is about?”

Jeffery fixed her with a hard stare. “Just answer the question.”

“Oh, I would love to,” Meg rolled her eyes. “But there is nothing to answer. He doesn’t even know.”

“Why not?”

Meg shrugged. “Never got around to telling him.” She met the hard stare dead on, waiting on bated breath as Jeffery determined her words careful. Big trouble would not even begin to describe what shit she would go through if anyone found out her feelings for Cas. 

“I see. So you don’t look into his eyes and daydream?” His comment was off-hand, but it still hit too close to home.

To her horror, Meg felt a blush rising on her cheeks, like she was a ten-year old virgin again. Jeffery snickered, clearly pleased to have flustered his leader. He gave her lazy wink before stretching out like a young tom cat. “Knew it,” he muttered. “Anime is good for something.”

Meg rolled her eyes. “Whatever floats your boat.”

Jeffery leaned forward, suddenly crowding her space, both demons nose to nose. “You didn’t,” Jeffery asked quietly, making Meg lean forward to hear him. “Please tell me you didn’t.”

“Didn’t what?” Meg asked impatiently, eager to be left alone. 

“Didn’t do it.”

“You’re going to have to be more specific than that.”

Jeffery sat back and gave her pitying look. “This must suck. It rarely happens, but we still can. We always can.”

“Always can what?”

“Like someone.” Jeffery leaned forward, his face firm. “You like him.” Meg opened and closed her mouth like a fish from water, trying to find her lungs. The guilt was suddenly too much, too pressing, too present. She needed to run. 

“Go ahead.” As he had heard her thoughts, Jeffery stood up and glared at her, eyes going black. “Run Meg. Run as fast as you can. Just like you always do.”

Meg tried for a smirk, standing toe-to-toe with the other demon, not ready to turn tail yet. “Like you’re one to talk?”

“I don’t like an angel!” Snapped Jeffery, his face twisted with fury. “What she’ll say to all this…” Meg felt as if she been physically slapped.

“You can’t tell her.”

“And why shouldn’t I?”

Meg just fixed him with a look. She might not be as intimating as the older demons, but she could be terrifying if she wanted to. Jeffery growled slightly in his throat.

“Don’t tell her,” Meg ordered. 

He looked away.

“We’ll see.” Meg bit her lip, waiting for more. When he said nothing, she sighed heavily and stared to turn away, nearly missing the soft after thought that lingered in the air longer than it should have. 

“Just, don’t fall in love, Meg.”

Jeffery vanished as quickly as he had come, leaving her alone at last. But as Meg Masters, demon bitch and ruthless killer looked out at the fields of China, she could honestly only think one thing:

_Too late._


End file.
